


Touch Starved

by mylifeisloki



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America Big Bang 2018 | cabigbang, F/M, PTSD!Steve, professionalcuddler!Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 03:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifeisloki/pseuds/mylifeisloki
Summary: Life just hasn't been the same since Steve came back from the army. Left alone and fragile, he follows the direction of his therapist to get out there and seek out a human connection. What he finds is Natasha, a professional cuddler who gives him much more than just the physical touching he's been craving.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @sleepygrimm for the amazing cover art! I couldn't be happier with it or happier for the chance to work with you! <3

 

Rule #1: If either party says they’re uncomfortable, everything stops.

 

"Steve, there's only so much I can do for you if you aren't willing to help yourself."

_Isn't that your fucking job?_

"I've told you this before. Interpersonal relationships are important in recovery. You need a support system."

_I lost my support system. That's the problem._

"Go out, meet someone. Go on a couple of bad dates until you find someone you like spending time with. Have sex. Take a chance."

_Easier said than done, as always._

"But you can't just keep going on like this. You're not just dealing with the repercussions of what you've gone through, Steve. You're lonely. And that's making everything worse."

_No shit._

"So this is what I want you to do by the next time we meet. Meet at least one new person. Learn their name, get to know them. And see how that makes you feel."

 

Steve surged up immediately as the other man did, shaking Dr. Fury's hand and thanking him with the glee of a guy who was in the process of being released from prison. These meetings? These _appointments_ were practically like being in jail, but who was he to complain? He needed help and he knew it, and Dr. Fury was supposed to be helping him. Except that most of the time, Steve left his office feeling like shit.

Today was no different. The idea that he had to go out and meet someone who wasn't just a girl behind a counter or a guy packing his groceries was this close to being completely undesirable. No, maybe that wasn't the right word. Maybe it was scary. Maybe Steve wasn't so keen on making new connections only to eventually lose them in horrible and traumatic ways.

But he had to get over that. Steve's father had been killed before he was born, so he didn't think that counted. His mother had died of breast cancer when he was a teenager... and then there was Bucky. Bucky, who had been killed in action. Bucky, who had trusted Steve to lead their unit and lost his life for it. If Steve wasn't careful, Dr. Fury was going to be right about the guilt eating him up. But he _should_ feel guilty. He should. It didn't matter what he'd gone through after Bucky died and it didn't matter what he was going through now because Bucky was gone and Bucky's _mother_ was still out there. She'd gotten that notice and Steve--- hadn't yet been able to convince himself to see her or any of Bucky's siblings himself.

They probably hated him anyway. If he'd only been more careful, Bucky would still be alive.

Still, there was at least one thing that Dr. Fury was one hundred percent right about: Steve was lonely. Even now, as he climbed the steps to his empty little apartment and let himself in, he started to wonder if he would even know how to function on a date. He'd only been on a couple of them in high school and even those were usually set up by Bucky in an attempt to get Steve a girl- a feat that would prove to be basically impossible while he was still dealing with being something of a late bloomer. He'd enlisted almost directly after high school, a little over a year after Bucky had, and there had hardly been time to date while he was at boot camp.

By the time Steve fell onto his shitty couch and leaned his head back, however, he was thinking about Peggy. She had been his commanding officer, first introduced to him at boot camp when he was still getting used to the height and unencumbered breathing that nature had granted him that past summer. He wasn't exactly the most charming guy- in fact, he had no skill whatsoever when it came to talking to women, but she seemed to enjoy his company and Steve was so taken with her that it never even occurred to him to wonder _why_. It didn't matter, because Peggy genuinely liked him and Steve was just about ready to ask her to settle down with him when their tours were over. She remained his commanding officer all through Steve's time in the army and they did grow quite close. Of course, nothing particularly physical could happen while he was still her subordinate, but that was alright. They used to talk for ages when they got the chance. Steve would slip her drawings of the camp or the other men that he'd done up in a cartoonish way just to make her laugh. She taught him everything she knew, every maneuver and style of fighting she thought would translate well from her wheelhouse to his. Truth be told, Steve wasn't sure he'd have been able to do the things he had without Peggy's help in the beginning. She'd even surprised him with a kiss before he went off on what would be his last mission.

And then that whole mess with being taken prisoner and assumed dead had to happen. Honestly, he couldn't blame her for moving on the way she had. Steve had come back to a Peggy who'd found herself a sweet man, another vet, and they'd already fallen in love-- She was engaged to be married when he returned and she'd even asked if he wanted to attend the wedding, but he'd politely declined. Instead, he sent a gift and a letter for her, wishing her well now that they were moving out to California. She may as well not even exist.

The fact remained that Steve was lonely. And Dr. Fury would expect him to have made some kind of progress by their next appointment, which meant that Steve had some thinking to do. He could just go out to a bar, he supposed. He knew he wasn't the ugliest guy on the planet, but it felt so... God, the pressure. The pressure was really what got to him. If it was a girl talking to him, he was basically up shit's creek without a paddle because after years of being alive and around women, he still had no idea how to talk to them. And if it was a guy, he'd probably just wind up thinking about Bucky some more. Never a good thing these days, unless he wanted to scare them off before 'getting to know' them. On top of that, the assumption at a bar was that sex would happen at the end of the night. Right?

 

Steve wasn't ready for that.

 

Well, no. That wasn't the problem. Way back before he'd enlisted, Steve had been about half convinced that he would never lose his virginity. No girl he'd ever come into contact with had wanted him that way and he managed to antagonize most of the guys he met, Bucky excluded. When he hit his growth spurt, he'd almost immediately joined the army and let's face it, that wasn't exactly the best environment in which to cultivate any kind of romance. The guys he worked with were great and everything, but after so many years of thinking about it, Steve wanted something special.

Except that he didn't think he wanted that anymore. Something 'special' would mean sleeping with someone he loved and all the people he loved were either dead or spoken for. It put him at something of a disadvantage, because the last thing he wanted to do right now was get out there and date someone when he still had to list reasons to get out of bed in the morning. He was in no shape to be in a relationship, though he wasn't quite sure what _would_ be the right shape to be in a relationship, since he'd never had the chance before. Five years in the army, plus two where he was missing and then in a coma, meant that he'd gone from skinny, unwanted twerp to celibate soldier in the middle of a war zone to MIA to coma patient-- and now he was suffering from what the doctors liked to call PTSD and depression with a nice little side helping of survivor's guilt. Steve thought the term 'fucked up' was more accurate.

Maybe he would feel better if he lost it, though. Maybe he would feel like something had changed? Maybe it would be the thing that snapped him out of all this crap he was dealing with. Of course, that just brought him right back around to how he was going to meet someone he actually felt comfortable enough to sleep with. He didn't even have to be that comfortable- just at ease enough to get the job done. The risk that came with sleeping with a stranger from the bar was two-fold. First of all, he couldn't know they were clean and/or on the proper birth control or whatever. And second of all, what if they liked him? What if they stayed until the next morning? Steve knew he was too polite to kick them out and he'd probably be too scared to be the one to leave…

But _third_ of all, he felt like he needed something real and this felt like it might be the only thing he could do to shock his system short of taking up an extreme sport- which was still an option, but Steve didn't think taking up something like bungee jumping or skydiving would do it, since he'd jumped out of planes before.

Swimming with sharks? Yeah, off the beach in Coney Island. Not likely.

Such problems.

 

Three days of sitting around watching reruns and eating takeout passed. During those three days, Steve ran a total of thirty miles, spent fourteen hours in a 24 hour gym in his neighborhood, and ordered from three different takeout places for dinner. He’d managed to put thoughts of sex and meeting people and all that out of his mind, but he knew that he couldn’t go to his next therapy appointment if he didn’t _try_ at the very least.

And so, Steve got dressed in his darkest pair of jeans, a white tshirt, and his leather jacket. He shaved and with only an hour spent sitting in his living room convincing himself to go, he finally left the apartment and headed to a club. He hated it upon arrival; the darkness made him feel sleazy and anonymous, and the pounding music was so loud that it was hardly music anymore. On the plus side, whiskey was pretty much whiskey no matter where you asked for it and so, Steve enjoyed his drink at the bar and pretended that his head wasn’t already throbbing right along with his heart.

The craziest thing was that even with all those people around him, Steve still felt alone. They couldn’t understand what he was going through, they couldn’t handle all the shit that was going on in his head. And they didn’t care about him. Maybe it sounded selfish from an outsider’s perspective, but Steve wanted a real connection. He wanted to feel normal, just for a little while-

“Hey, handsome.”

_Fuck. Already._

“Hey,” Steve answered, turning very slightly to acknowledge the blonde who sidled up to him at the bar. She was pretty, he supposed. Plain. Maybe that was harsh, but hey. He wasn’t saying it out loud; she was just… unremarkable.

She slid onto the stool beside him and smiled. “You look like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders, honey.”

Steve let out a breath. “Maybe I do.”

“You’ve got a nice set of shoulders to support it,” she countered. “Buy me a drink?”

_Bold move._

Steve signaled to the bartender and let the blonde woman order a drink on him. Maybe it was silly, but he automatically felt like he’d gotten defensive and difficult and she’d hardly said anything to him yet; asking him to buy her a drink wasn’t tantamount to some kind of enemy attack.

“So,” she mused as she took a sip of her martini. “What’d you come here looking for?”

Now _that_ was a question. Steve wished he had a normal answer, but all he could think of was several really sarcastic and cynical versions of the truth.

_Oh, just looking for someone who’s not gonna run at the first sign of trouble._

_One night stand?_

_A deep, meaningful conversation that inevitably ends in tears… for me._

“Just looking to meet new people,” he said eventually. It wasn’t the best answer, but it was something. He turned to look the woman beside him in the eye. “I’m Steve.”

“Sharon. It’s nice to meet you, Steve.”

For the next twenty minutes, over two more drinks each, Sharon told him all about how it was so hard to find a nice guy in New York these days and how tired she was of the guys who never wanted to get to know you first and how encouraging it was to find someone who was such a good listener… Steve didn’t have the heart to interject and tell her that while he did consider himself a good listener, he was still sitting with her because he was too awkward to leave.

And then Sharon made the mistake of sliding her hand onto his bicep and squeezing lightly. “You really are a good listener,” she gushed. “Do you want to take this somewhere a little more private?”

Steve flinched away, registered the confusion in her eyes as some kind of judgment, and realized right then and there (as if he hadn’t known before) that this had been a terrible error in judgment. He wasn’t ready for this and now he had to get out of a bad situation before things got any more awkward than they already were-- which would be a feat and a half considering it felt like his skin was crawling already. All of a sudden, the walls were too close and the music was making his head spin like he’d had a lot more than the one whiskey he’d been nursing since he got there.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry, I don’t think I can do this.”

Sharon blinked in surprise. “We don’t have to,” she said slowly. “We could go grab a bite to eat instead… or you could just buy me another drink.”

Steve shook his head and moved to get as far away from her as possible. “No, listen, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested. Sorry. Again.”

She looked a little offended at that and Steve felt bad for it, but he hadn’t meant it in an insulting way or anything; all he wanted was to get out of there and go home where he clearly belonged. Being out in the world was not a good idea when he wasn’t even stable when he was alone.

“Honey, there’s no need to run away,” she tried. “We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” The way she leaned into him made Steve feel like he was suffocating and her shiny red nails scraped lightly over his tshirt as she slid her hand down his chest. Ugh.

“I’m already uncomfortable,” he admitted, gingerly pushing her hand away. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, Sharon seemed to get the point and took her hands off him only to give him a weird look and shrug. “Your loss,” she said, turning back to the bar to finish her drink and likely find someone else to talk to for the night.

 

Steve left immediately, nearly stumbling out onto the sidewalk and taking a big, deep breath of questionably fresh air. Fuck no. That wasn’t happening again, he didn’t care how much he needed to meet new people. And yet, as awful as the experience had been, he felt like a failure by the time he’d stuffed his hands into his pockets and began the long walk home. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just try to connect with someone?

When he got home, he slumped down onto the couch and pulled his laptop off the table for a little bit of totally innocent internet wandering. He was poking around on some website that posted little short stories about how awful some people’s lives were, which was a thing for a reason he couldn’t imagine, when an ad popped up on the side advertising an escort service.

No. No, he couldn’t possibly be thinking about sinking that low, right? He didn’t even need to have sex or spend time with a woman- all Fury had said was that he needed to get out there and meet someone, talk to them, get to know them. It could be a guy, right? Some random guy who might become a friend would be just as good. For exactly four minutes-- he counted --Steve pondered the overly done up woman on the ad to the point where his leg began to shake. It would be so easy. All he needed to do was go to the site, make an account, spend a little of the money he spent on absolutely nothing else except rent, and pick a girl. All he needed to do was get a hold of himself and act like a… a really pathetic adult, which was exactly what he was right now.

Fuck it, there was no harm in looking. Assuming this was a relatively reputable (was that even a thing?) agency for escorts, he frowned for a moment as he hit the button to enter and watched a crimson curtain lift to reveal the rest of the page. In clear, red text on a black background, it explained that the girls were all professionals ready to 'cater to any desire' he might have. Well, Steve wasn't sure he had any particular 'desire' except the obvious one, but that was alright. He already felt dirty.

Clicking into the next page to see a list of the girls, he sat back and found himself faced with the first option. She was blonde and thin, and wearing pink lipstick with her hair braided over one shoulder. Steve thought she was pretty, but he could also imagine her laughing at him once she found out he'd never done this before. Then again, would he be able to find someone who _wouldn't_ laugh at him in this particular situation? Moving on, he came face to face with another woman. She looked more approachable, at least, but the description they gave was off-putting and Steve kept scrolling because he definitely didn't consider himself an 'experienced man' who could 'keep her up all night'.

He also wasn't stupid enough to think that the girl actually wanted to be kept up all night by any man who was paying for sex. Because that was what this was, right? Paying for sex. God, Bucky would have disapproved and Steve was pretty sure his mother would have killed him for just thinking about it. He just justified this based on the fact that he wouldn't be doing it if he wasn't desperate for some kind of uncomplicated company.

Most of the girls pictured were very pretty- a little overly done up for Steve's taste, but pretty. Still, he couldn't quite settle down and just pick one. It felt like he was shopping and that made everything feel wrong, but it wasn't like these girls were there under false pretenses. They were doing this because-- it was their job, like anything else. He had the utmost respect for them and everything, but picking one was becoming difficult. The woman he finally settled on was actually a little older and he took comfort in her picture because she seemed like she wasn’t associated with any particular fetish; she was normal, or as close to normal as one could be on this site.

But the longer Steve looked at her picture and thought about what he was basically asking her to do by putting his payment information in, the more unsure he became. He couldn’t do this; his morals simply wouldn’t allow it and to be perfectly frank, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to have sex. It like he was forcing himself and that just wasn’t the way to go… but if he was being honest, he did spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how nice it would be to just have someone wrap him up in a warm hug. In other words, he just wanted… a friend. The problem was that he didn’t think renting a friend was a thing just yet; you could have pretty much anything delivered to you in a couple of days from Amazon, but friends weren’t quite on the market yet.

“Shit.”

 

One week later, he went back to Dr. Fury’s office feeling more like a failure than anything else. Steve wanted to do what was best for his own psyche, but he felt like the effort of attempting to do the right thing was fucking him up even more and so, he was at some kind of impasse that he just couldn’t seem to get by.

“Steve, you’ve made friends before. You can start talking to someone at the library, in the lobby at the movies, at a record store. Anywhere you go, there are other people you could talk to.”

One of these days, Dr. Fury was going to say something like that and Steve was just going to explode because he _knew_ there were other people. It was New York City they were living in, not Bumfuck, Nowhere, USA. There were _always_ people, but that didn’t mean Steve felt comfortable starting a conversation with them!

“You have to know that it’s never going to feel like you’re replacing Bucky.”

_No one could replace Bucky. No one._

“But you need social interaction.” He leaned forward. “I’m worried about you.”

_Yeah, join the fucking club. I’m worried about me too._

“Why don’t you join a dating website? Or go for one of those speed dating things. You just need to jump start your life again. Did you have any luck whatsoever?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “I...went to a bar and some woman hit on me, but I panicked and left,” he admitted. “Felt like she was strangling me and she didn’t even get that close.”

Fury sighed in the way that people did when they felt bad for you. “Listen, this is the VA closest to where you live,” he said, pulling out a pamphlet and handing it over. “They have meetings for people who’ve been through combat and stuff like that, people living with PTSD. And the counselor’s a good friend of mine. You should go.”

Steve looked down at the pamphlet and frowned at the happy people on the front, all dressed in various uniforms. “A support group?” He asked, dread already seeping into his words; Steve didn’t want to be part of a support group. He was fine on his own.

“Think of it as a place to meet people who might understand,” Fury explained.

 

Three nights later, Steve woke up with a nightmare that had him so shaken and so upset that he wound up with a hole in the wall beside his bed. He cried a lot that night and even the cold shower he took after his run didn’t help him feel better. How bad could the support group be, right? How bad could it be after a night like that one?

He showed up just ten minutes late and peeked around the corner to find a handsome black man talking to a group of maybe fifteen people about how important it was to share their experiences and how relating to others could often be the difference between feeling isolated and alone and feeling part of a community. When a woman got up to talk about how she’d heard a car backfire and immediately took cover right there on the street, Steve realized this might not be for him; he didn’t think he could get up and talk about how he’d almost pissed on himself once because he’d been woken up by a loud bang that he could have sworn was gunfire.

So he remained just out of sight and listened instead.

He wasn’t alone, clearly. Steve listened to at least seven different people get up and talk about their experiences and he _definitely_ wasn’t alone, but so what? They weren’t in his bedroom at night. They weren’t going to give him the contact he was just aching for these days.

“You know, you don’t _have_ to talk if you don’t want to. You can just come and listen. Sometimes that even helps a little more in the beginning.” Steve’s head snapped up to find the man from before, obviously the counselor, standing nearby and giving him a smile and a knowing look.

“I’m not sure I belong here,” Steve blurted out. “I’m just-- observing.”

The man nodded and gestured towards the group. “You wanna come sit with me and observe?”

Steve hesitated, but ultimately pushed himself off the wall and nodded. “Okay, sure. I guess.”

They headed back into the room and sat down in the back row, thankfully. Steve really didn’t feel like he was part of any group and sitting up there with the others would make him feel like some kind of farce.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” the man offered. “Sam Wilson. I’m a counselor here.”

Steve took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Steve Rogers.” He paused. “Did you serve?”

Sam inclined his head. “Air force,” he said. “Five years.”

“Army and Special Forces,” Steve said automatically. “Almost six years.”

There were no questions and that was something Steve really appreciated; he assumed a lot of the people here had been through something, although he supposed it was entirely possible they’d had a ‘normal’ tour and just couldn’t shake it when they were thrust back into their normal lives. Either way, he knew there was no way he was getting up there to talk. But he did listen. Steve listened to stories about visions of RPGs on the road and nightmares and not being able to relate to loved ones. He listened to realizations that some had about how maybe life wouldn’t ever be exactly the way it had been before the military.

When it was over, Sam thanked everyone for coming and told them it would be held the same time, same place next week. If anyone wanted to contact him, he was available for one-on-one sessions in the meantime. “You should think about coming back,” he told Steve. “I don’t mean to judge, but you look like you could use a friend or two.”

Shit, was it written on his forehead or something?

“I don’t know if this is for me,” he said again. “I just came to check it out.”

“Well, even if it’s not. If you need someone to talk to--” He handed Steve a business card with his name and his contact information. “I’m available pretty much night and day.” One hand reached out for Steve’s shoulder and he didn’t feel like he was suffocating; in fact, it felt… really nice. He could feel the warmth through his tshirt and Steve knew right then that _contact_ was what he was looking for. He didn’t necessarily want sex; he just wanted contact.

“Thanks,” he said warmly. “Really. I appreciate it.”

 

It wasn’t until Steve got to the train that he realized he could have just asked Sam to have coffee with him or something and make a friend; maybe it was the fact that he was a counselor that threw Steve off. Was it even possible for them to have a normal conversation? That is, could they talk without Sam psychoanalyzing all his issues? Too late to tell now, he supposed.

Besides, he was just a little too proud to admit that he wanted the company. Sam seemed like a really nice guy and all, but Steve doubted he wanted to spend an evening with his arms around a stranger and it was fucking embarrassing to even think about asking him.

 

Two nights later, the loneliness went from palpable to excruciating. Steve was sitting on the couch watching reruns of Friends and picking at the food in front of him, and he was so overcome with hatred for his own situation that he lost his appetite. Getting out there seemed so terrifying, but the thought of dying alone was even worse. He wanted someone, but he didn’t want a relationship. He probably wasn’t even worth the effort. He wasn’t… He wasn’t worth the trouble someone would have to go through in order to be close to him. And yet at the same time? At the same time, he desperately wanted someone to try and understand why he needed them to just go slow.

At close to midnight, his stomach growling and the television still blaring in front of him, Steve realized that it was more than loneliness. He was scared. What if things got worse? What if he couldn’t bring himself out of the kind of anxiety that plagued him right now?

What if--

His laptop made a sound as another email popped into his inbox and Steve’s gaze snapped to the screen. It would seem as though his recent searching had been getting some attention from particular services; namely, a _cuddling_ service. Steve was ready to delete it right away and mark it as spam while he was at it, but… well, it was an interesting concept.

The website attached to the ad promised professional cuddlers for a very reasonable price. There was no sex, no expectations; they would just come and cuddle with you once the limitations were discussed. Steve thought it sounded awkward, but also far too good to be true. And so… he searched to see what he could find in his area.

New York. Okay. New York City. Got it. Brooklyn.

Fourteen matches.

Steve took a deep breath and straightened up to browse through them. The first thing he noticed was that everyone was smiling. He supposed that was done to make them look friendly, but Steve felt like it was forced. The first three options looked too young, so he ruled them out. Not that there was anything wrong with dating someone who was a bit younger, but having a complete stranger that looked like a kid cuddle with him seemed a little weird.

Option #4 just looked untrustworthy for some reason, which was weird.

Option #5 looked a little too much like Bucky and Steve had to take a few minutes to remember that it had to be the worst possible decision to be with _anyone_ who reminded him of someone he’d lost.

He was wasting his time, though. More than likely, he’d be able to find something he didn’t like about every single last option on that site. Maybe that was because he didn’t really want to do this, or maybe it was because he didn't really think it would make an impact on him.

But option #9 gave him something to think about.

The first and most important thing he noticed was that she wasn’t smiling the same way the others were; she looked genuine, her lips tilted up in only the barest hint of a grin. It wasn’t just that she was pretty, although Steve wasn’t blind or anything. She had fiery red hair and green eyes, and her lips looked like they would feel soft. For some reason, he imagined that she had a smooth voice; maybe she was a little quiet, maybe she liked silly humor. Maybe she was the kind of person who just didn’t talk very much. Maybe she talked a lot.

‘Hi, my name is Natasha. I’m twenty two years old and I’m majoring in ballet at Juilliard. Don’t let the picture fool you; I’m really very soft and cuddly. Message me anytime and let me be your jetpack.’

It was… not entirely appealing, Steve had to admit that to himself right now. Natasha seemed like she wasn’t exactly enthused about what she was doing and he was torn between being realistic enough to know that none of these people were probably overly enthusiastic about their ‘profession’ and kind of indignant as a consumer. Except that then he felt bad about it and chastised himself for being so selfish.

The main and most important question was whether or not he was actually going to do this.  
It wasn’t even that expensive, really. Steve could spare the eighty bucks it would take for him to ensure a session with Natasha if she didn’t object, of course. Already kind of hating himself for sinking so low, he made a profile on the website and identified himself as one looking for someone to cuddle with, not someone looking to get paid for cuddling. Ha, he couldn’t even comfort himself; the idea that he could comfort someone else was almost laughable, but not quite.

Actually taking the leap to messaging Natasha was a different story and took much, much longer. When he finally went through with it, the clock read one fifteen in the morning and Steve was driving himself crazy with uncertainty. He was so tired that he hit the button to send eschewing all consequences for the next day, which he was sure would come much faster than he wanted.

 

The next morning, Steve felt like the night before might have been some kind of hazy dream, not a reality in which he contacted a professional cuddler. And yet. After his run and a long shower, he checked his phone to find a message from Natasha sitting right there. Well, shit.

Now he had to go through with it.

He listened to her instructions, sent the picture she’d asked for even though it felt more invasive than he would have liked, and agreed that Friday at seven would work just fine.

_If I live that long. Fuck, this was a mistake._

But it was done. Steve did forward his address to her and immediately began worrying that he wasn’t ready for guests. On Friday morning, he went to the grocery store and picked up some food just in case she was hungry, focusing on granola bars and fresh fruit and stuff like that so he didn’t actually look like he’d developed a mild addiction to Hostess cupcakes over the last few weeks.

When he got home, he put the food away and set about cleaning up. Magazines were piled up, books were shoved into corners, dirty clothing was put into the hamper, and he changed his sheets because that was just good manners. By the time he was all finished, his apartment looked borderline acceptable; imagine that.

Just to be sure, he took another shower around quarter after six and forced himself to eat two slices of toast in the hopes that his stomach might not growl while Natasha was there. Shaved and ready, he waited anxiously on the edge of his usual chair and drummed his fingers against the edge of the arm like he wasn’t half past terrified.

 

The knock on the door made him physically jump.

Pulling the door open, he realized that he was woefully unprepared for this visit despite all the attempts otherwise. Natasha was a thousand times more beautiful than he’d imagined and he was already nervous even if he knew they weren’t having sex, just… cuddling.

“Hi,” he greeted. “Sorry. Please, come in.” Steve stepped aside to admit her and closed the door behind them. He made sure not to lock it like he usually did because hey, she was still a woman alone in a strange guy’s apartment and he understood how that might have looked from her perspective.

“Oh, make yourself comfortable,” he said quickly. “Shoes over here, and I’ll take your coat…”

Natasha eventually plopped the duffel bag she was carrying down on the floor and offered him a very carefully practiced smile once he’d put her coat on a pristine rack, keeping some distance between them until they reviewed the rules, he would imagine.

“Let me guess,” she quipped lightly. “You’re trying to figure out if I’m big enough to spoon you.”

Now wouldn’t that be a sight! Steve laughed despite himself and rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck. After that, it felt like everything went pretty smoothly; Natasha was easy to get along with, although that didn’t entirely help him relax the way she wanted him to.

“I’m not here to bullshit you.”

Wow. Either she was like this with all her clients, or she just knew how to read people really well. At the moment, Steve didn’t care which one it was because he felt like clinging to the chance that she was someone who would tell him exactly how she felt, exactly what she thought, exactly not what she thought he wanted or needed to hear. She was so close to true neutral already.

“I’m not looking for someone to bullshit me, so I think we make a good pair.”

She smirked and suggested they sit down to talk about the rules.

Steve figured it went without saying that should Natasha decide she was uncomfortable, he would let her distance herself from him and leave if that was what she wanted to do. Then again, he was realistic enough to know that not everyone was as decent as he tried to be; she’d probably been in situations where her wishes weren’t respected. He agreed to that right away, as well as the other rules she outlined as simply and clearly as she possibly could. He appreciated that, truth be told, because he didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.

“So,” she sighed as she sank back into the cushions on his sofa. “Now that we’ve got all that settled, what exactly are you looking for, Steve?”

_A solution to all this nonsense would be nice._

Steve thought about it for a moment and licked his lips. “I really just want to sleep and maybe hold you?” God, that sounded weird coming out of his mouth. “If that’s okay.”

Natasha didn’t seem particularly bothered by that admission and she smiled as she gracefully pulled herself off the couch. “C’mon,” she said as she extended her hand to him.

 

With their hands linked together, Steve allowed Natasha to lead him down the hall and into his own bedroom. For ages, going to sleep had been this burden he had to deal with every single night and laying alone in bed surrounded by memories and ghosts and all the shit in his head was something that plagued him for hours before he convinced himself to actually try to sleep. These circumstances were distinctly different and not only because there was someone else in the room with him, but also because he was going to consciously try to let her soothe him.

His bed had been neatly made that morning, military corners and all. Natasha crawled onto it and patted the space beside her so Steve knew it was alright for him to do the same. It was hard to explain the exact way that he felt awkward, but it was definitely there. He felt like he was a burden even though he was very well aware that Natasha could say no and get out of there if she wanted to.

Natasha laid down with her back to him and Steve laid there like an idiot, a respectful distance between them as he admired the soft curve of her waist and the swell of her hip and the small strip of skin he could see between her tshirt and jeans...

“Well, don’t be shy,” she teased lightly, looking back over her shoulder to see him. “Get in here.”

Steve swallowed and scooted forward, but he waited until she reached back to take his arm and pull it around her instead of making that move on his own accord. She snuggled back and soon enough, his chest was pressed firmly up against her back and she was held carefully in his arms, like she might break if he squeezed too tight.

“How’s that?” She murmured. “Are you comfortable?”

_No._

“I think so,” he lied. “And this is okay with you?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll know if I’m not okay with something. Try and sleep now, okay?”

 

Steve hummed a little and took a deep breath as he tried to relax enough to sleep. Natasha was warm and soft; the way she felt in his arms was something more than just comforting. It felt like she was giving food to a starving man just by being there with him, so he wasn’t wasting away in loneliness and misery anymore. Steve eventually closed his eyes and forced himself to loosen up. Instead of focusing on how pathetic he felt, he thought about good, simple things.

Natasha’s hair smelled like apples and her neck smelled like something soft and flowery.

She was warm to the touch and it made him want to bury his nose in her skin.

She wasn’t judging him. Everyone needed a friend sometimes.

He fell asleep before he even really knew what was happening and for a while, it was the most satisfying rest he’d had for a long time. Unfortunately, as Steve’s experience, all good things must eventually come to a screeching, terrifying end.

 

The nightmares that came each night always started with snow. Sometimes it was all abstract; snow and cold and flashes of metal here and there before the scream started. Sometimes Steve stood by and watched as Bucky slipped from his fingers, sometimes Steve scrambled to pull Bucky up and failed over and over and over again. There were times that he dreamed of the ice, too. Steve would wake up in a cold sweat, shivering, and have to remind himself that he was alright, he was alive, he’d _survived_. But Bucky hadn’t, and that fact hurt more than anything else.

Honestly, it was hard to know which was worse: Steve hated the nightmares, but the dreams of their childhood or the dreams that reminded him of all the good times they’d had together left him feeling hollow and sad instead of shaken and afraid. He traded one hell for another depending on where his subconscious decided to take him.

On this particular occasion, he had the unfortunate luck to be privy to the former.

Upon waking, he let out a loud shout and sat up as fast as he could. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his skin pale and clammy… Belatedly, as he pulled his legs up and covered his face with both hands, he remembered that he wasn’t alone and lifted his gaze to Natasha. She didn’t look particularly startled, but she was sitting up near the foot of the bed with her brows drawn together in concern.

“Are you alright?”

_Do I look alright?_

Steve shook his head and turned his eyes away from her all over again. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? He could have hurt her or something. The three holes in his walls that were carefully hidden behind furniture and spontaneously purchased pieces of art said all that needed to be said about his frame of mind sometimes. And here he was dragging a perfect stranger into his mess.

“Here, let me--”

She reached out for him and Steve flinched back before she could actually touch him. Natasha backed down right away and took a seat in front of him with her legs folded under her.

“It’s okay, you know,” she tried. “I’m not judging. You can talk to me--”

“I think it’d be better if you just left now. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this.”

_Because I’m a goddamn train wreck and no one else should have to deal with this much bullshit._

Natasha pressed her lips together and nodded once before sliding off the bed. Steve appreciated that she understood he needed to be alone; no harm done if she wasn’t hurt. He’d made an idiot of himself, but hey. What else was new? He was too damn fucked up to lead a normal life even when he was hitting rock bottom on a social level.

“For the record,” she said from the doorway. “I’d be happy to come back and try again. You just let me know. Take care of yourself, I’ll let myself out.”

She was gone long before Steve forced himself to lift his head again and think about what she’d said. She would come back? After that display, she would willingly come back to him and try again? And here he thought Natasha was just doing this for extra money or something; she was actually really brave to persevere like that when it would be tantamount to possibly putting herself in danger.

But it didn’t matter. Steve wasn’t going to do that again. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

 

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**Several months earlier...**

“Oh, get over yourself, it’s not the same thing.”

Natasha gave Clint a look from across the table and he shook his head resolutely. They’d been debating about this for twenty minutes now and he couldn’t seem to find it in him to take what Natasha had said about her new attempts at making some extra money on the side and separate it from selling her body. They were two very, very different things.

“But you’re _volunteering_ to get into a bed with whoever wants you there, and you’re just gonna let them hold you? This is fucked up, Nat. It’s weird. It’s dangerous!”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha took another sip of her coffee and sighed. “I’ll talk to them for a while through the app first and _then_ arrange a time to meet up. They do background checks as soon as you make a profile; I know, I had to consent to one.”

Clint sat back. “And you’re just fine with being… what the fuck did you call it?”

“A professional cuddler. A cuddlist, if you will.” He didn’t look convinced. “Look, I’m young, I’m pretty, and you know better than most that I’m actually pretty good at the cuddling thing. Why shouldn’t I make some money off of it?”

“Because!” Clint seemingly ran out of reasons and heaved out another sigh loaded with both judgment and, thankfully, resignation. “Fine. Just promise me you’ll be careful?”

Natasha smiled. “Aren’t I always?”

 

Truth be told, Natasha wasn’t sure what to think of the whole arrangement. She understood that she had the power here; they were her rules to make and her boundaries to set, and fuck knows she was really good at putting up big, huge, thick boundaries. She also didn’t worry about her own safety as she was pretty sure she could protect herself… and because she would carry mace and a pocket knife with her at all times, as usual.

The first person who had contacted her was an older man who’d lost his wife and just wanted the feeling of someone laying in bed next to him. When she arrived, he offered her cookies from a bakery around the corner and Natasha curled up in bed with him while he talked about his wife, how they’d met, and how beautiful she had been. It was a hundred dollars that Natasha sorely needed and quite frankly, the easiest hundred dollars she’d ever made.

The second person was a CEO who said that she just didn’t have time to cultivate a relationship given her very heavy work schedule. Upon their first meeting, she complimented the woman’s shoes and they got along famously after that. Natasha learned that day that some women, no matter how severe they might be in their business clothes, really appreciated someone playing with their hair or rubbing up and down the length of their spine. She was more than happy to facilitate a night of peaceful rest and accepted a healthy tip the next morning as she was handed a cup of coffee to go and walked out the door.

As time went on, she found the nuts that Clint had been worried about. They were peppered in between people who just wanted a little company here and there, but they all stood out in their own particular way. The most common issue she had were the men who wanted to cuddle with her and ultimately got just a little too handsy. She’d tell them to back off and most would, but she’d left in the middle of session twice and gave both users a very honest review on the site so other people would know what they were getting into. She also had a surprising number of women, one of whom asked if Natasha would mind letting her rest with her head on her stomach. Natasha didn’t mind. She did, however, mind the woman who booked her and then surprised her with a man being in the room as well. Nope.

But most of her clients were very nice. Natasha still believed that people who were actively looking for someone to cuddle with were mostly people who were lonely and wanted companionship and affection, perhaps people who didn’t know how to go about getting that in a real sense. She’d even been contacted by a student around her age who was living across the country from his family. He wanted her to come over and play video games with him, and then maybe cuddle as they watched a movie. She wasn’t sure by the end of it if he’d wanted it to feel like a date or like two siblings just spending an evening together, but it was the most fun she’d had in some time.

For almost a month, she rotated a few customers and met a couple of new customers each week. It was a steady amount of money coming in and thanks to her scholarship to Julliard and the dirt cheap rent she paid to inhabit one whole closet-sized room in Clint’s apartment, she actually had spending money for once. Worth it, especially considering she could make her own schedule and work around her dance classes.

Natasha was just turning off her TV and telling herself to go to bed when she got another alert on her phone and pulled up a message from someone new. His profile was nearly bare; that wasn’t usually a good sign, although she supposed that the succinct answers he’d given seemed innocent enough.

 

His name was Steve. He was thirty two years old and described himself as ‘ex-military’, but said almost nothing about what he was looking for in a cuddle partner besides the fact that he wasn’t sure what to put down. There also wasn’t a picture. Natasha knew that Clint would want her to refuse this one immediately, but something about the message he’d sent made her pause.

**_Hi. I hope I’m not bothering you. I’m sure you get all kinds of stories, but the suggestion here is telling me to tell you why I’m on here. Long, long story short, I think having someone around for a little while might make the hours and hours of being alone just a little more bearable. If there’s anything you need from me, please let me know. -SR_ **

And then, while she was still staring at the first message, he sent another.

**_I just realized how depressing and pathetic that probably sounded. I promise I’m normal. -SR_ **

God knows why, but Natasha actually believed him. The messages were too raw to be fabricated, and too sad to be anything but honest. Besides, she could message him back a few times and make sure it was safe before she actually agreed to meet with him; she could even ask him straight out if he had a picture to put up.

**_Don’t worry about how it sounds. I assume you’ve read through my rules already, so I’ll just need a picture of you holding a spoon (for verification purposes) before we can go through your options. -NR_ **

He actually didn’t reply at all that night; Natasha imagined he was questioning whether or not he actually wanted to go through with all of this, but the result was absolutely worth it in the end. If that picture was real, and she was guessing it had to be based on the spoon and the unsure smile, Steve was _gorgeous_. Now, she’d had some decent looking people as clients in the past, but he was different. He was so distractingly handsome that it took her a minute or two of just staring before she was able to snap out of it and move forward.

Cuddling with this guy? Yes, please.

Considering the ethical dilemma of breaking her rules to let him do more? ...Maybe.

**_Thank you. I’m available tomorrow anytime, or Friday from 6 to midnight. On the weekend, I’m available all day Saturday and in the afternoons on Sunday. Just let me know when and where you want to meet up, and we can discuss details when I get there. -NR_ **

Steve responded almost immediately with something that felt like a rehearsed response, but not in the way that he was trying to hide something; quite the contrary, Steve sounded like he’d been trying to say the ‘right thing’, which was ridiculous because he was paying for her company. In any case, he told her that Friday would be fine, asked her if seven was okay, and forwarded her his address. She agreed.

 

On the day of, Natasha arrived at Steve’s apartment building with her duffel bag at her side and a can of mace in the side pocket, just in case. She’d gotten a good vibe from him, but she’d unfortunately been wrong before and she figured it was better to be safe than sorry. She’d dressed casually for the occasion in jeans and flats, plus an old black top she loved and a black jacket buttoned up around her to keep warm. It was chilly outside now; the fall had come at last and the wind had picked up, leaving her cheeks flushed and pink after her walk from the train.

Considering all of that, the warmth that enveloped her the very moment Steve opened the door was almost staggering. He was even more handsome in person; tall and broad, and wearing a tshirt that looked like it was at least a size too small for him, but it was the soft light behind him and the smile he gave her that really made her feel welcome.

“Hi,” he greeted. “Sorry, please come in.”

His apartment was very clean; hardwood floors that were neatly swept, neutral colored walls, a tidy pile of books on the end table, and a bookshelf with volumes on every shelf. She could see where the living room turned into the little kitchen and noted with some amusement the messy desk by the window with papers and books and pencils strewn across it. That one place was the only thing out of order that she could see, though she suspected that Steve’s life was not quite as neat as he wanted people to think.

“Oh, make yourself comfortable,” he said as he shut the door behind her. “Shoes over here, and I’ll take your coat…” Natasha slid right out of her coat and let him hang it up for her while she kicked off her flats and set her duffel bag down where it wouldn’t be in the way of anything. When she turned back, Steve was watching her with the most curious look on his face.

“Let me guess,” she quipped lightly. “You’re trying to figure out if I’m big enough to spoon you.”

Steve let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “No, but that was a good one,” he answered. “I guess I’m just a little nervous. This feels a little strange.”

Natasha nodded. “Think about it this way. You go to a doctor for medicine, you go to a chiropractor when your back is messed up, you go to a dentist for your teeth. Why shouldn’t you be able to go to someone when you just need company and some contact?”

“That’s a really good way to look at it.” Steve’s shoulders visibly relaxed and Natasha inwardly congratulated herself on that; he seemed like a nice guy, but he was _very_ tense and that was bound to make things difficult. “I guess you get a lot of people who are lonely, huh?”

“I get people who are lonely, people who are busy… people who miss their families.” Natasha took a seat on the arm of his sofa and offered the warmest smile she possibly could. After being at this a little while, she was pretty good at it. “You’re no more or less pathetic than anything else I’ve heard.”

He seemed surprised and Natasha shrugged a little bit. “You said you liked me because I looked genuine,” she reminded him, referencing their brief texting conversation. “I’m not here to bullshit you.”

Steve’s bedroom was as neat as the rest of his apartment. He had a big bed adorned with blue sheets that were made with harsh, unforgiving corners. There was a window overlooking the courtyard of his apartment complex, and a lamp on the bedside table along with a book and what looked like a full prescription bottle she wouldn’t ask him about.

Unlike some of her clients, Steve was more than a little hesitant about getting into bed with her. He looked like a lamb up for slaughter or something and it made Natasha wonder when he’d last spent any intimate time with _anyone_. Then again, she supposed that wasn’t any of her business.

With that said, he took to spooning the way any person who desperately craved human contact would. Natasha settled in and pulled his arm around her waist so they could get comfortable, and she was actually surprised to find that Steve fell asleep rather quickly after that. Maybe he just needed a little company and that would be enough to solve his problems. She could smell ‘repeat customer’ all over him assuming he actually got some rest. Those circles under his eyes spoke volumes about just how desperate he might be.

Left with nothing else to do, Natasha began going over the choreography for a dance she was expected to perform at school. She closed her eyes and imagined each step, the music playing smoothly in the background, the issues she might have with the movements…

And then everything went wrong. Steve tightened his arm around her to the point where it was uncomfortable and began mumbling to himself. Before she could even tell him that he had to let go, his arms released as he turned onto his back and began fighting some invisible demon as he tried to wake himself up. She’d heard never to wake someone in the middle of a nightmare and to be honest, the way he was moving made her a little hesitant to get real close. Instead, Natasha scrambled to sit at the end of the bed and watched him with sympathy; nightmares were a real bitch.

When he woke up with a shout, Natasha simply watched him for a moment before offering to help. She was rebuffed, which wasn’t actually much of a surprise, and decided that she just didn’t know him well enough to insist on doing it anyway. She would leave without complaint, but she couldn’t resist telling him that she’d be happy to try again. Maybe he wouldn’t take her up on it, but it felt like Steve actually needed a friend.

On her way back home, she thought about the look on his face when he’d woken up and realized she was still there and watching him. Natasha knew that look. It wasn’t just fear; there was real heartbreak in his eyes and she wondered what he’d lost or what had happened to him to make him feel that way. Clint might object, but Natasha was fairly certain she’d already become way too interested in Steve’s life and story. How long would it take for all her rules to be broken?


	2. Chapter 2

Rule #2: Clothing will remain on at all times.

 

“Up until the nightmare hit you, did having this--” Dr. Fury glanced at his notes. “Natasha. Did having her there make you feel any better?”

Steve shifted anxiously in his chair. He felt more than a little embarrassed by the whole thing, but Dr. Fury had pried the story out of him anyway. It was stupid, what he’d tried to do. Natasha had probably been more freaked out by the whole thing than she let on and despite what she’d said, Steve was pretty sure she wouldn’t come back even if he begged her to. 

And he wasn’t even going to ask, let alone beg.

He was just going to live out his lonely life in peace because it was safer for everyone that way.  _ That _ way, no one was bothered by his nightmares or the fact that he still tensed and ducked whenever a car backfired or a firework went off.

“It was nice having someone there, I’m not gonna lie to you.”

_ Even though lying would make this easier for both of us. _

“But waking up like that and seeing her there?” Steve shook his head resolutely. “I thought I felt pathetic before, but I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.” It was the pitying look she gave him that really did it; shit, he couldn’t get his own life together and now he had strangers feeling sorry for him in his own goddamn house. 

“But she said she’d come back if you wanted her to,” Dr. Fury pointed out. “That has to mean something, right?”

Steve sighed. “She was just being polite,” he mumbled. “There’s no way she’d come back after that.”

_ And there’s no guarantee that I won’t have an even worse episode the second time around. _

 

Unfortunately, he knew what Dr. Fury was going to say before the words actually left his mouth. And sure enough, he left the office with a new task: try to arrange a second session with Natasha. It would be an understatement to say that he wasn’t looking forward to it. She’d probably be real nice about it, but she would refuse, he would feel awkward, she would feel bad about it, he would apologize and feel bad about himself for at least a day. That was just the way it was going to go, no doubt about it.

But he’d promised to try and he was nothing if not a man of his word.

 

Three days later, he finally got up the nerve to send another message to Natasha over the cuddling website. He felt like he’d braced himself for the inevitable refusal, but hey. He’d overestimated himself in the past and paid for it in general unhappiness. There was only one way to find out how this particular time was going to go; even if he happened to text her in the middle of the night and toss his phone onto the couch on his way out the door for a late night run, he was totally facing his fears here. 

**_Hey, I’m sorry about the other night. I was wondering if you’d be okay with trying again. I know you’re probably really uncomfortable with the thought, so I totally understand if you say no. Thanks anyway. -SR_ **

To be honest, though, Steve wasn’t even sure what he would ask her to do for him should she actually say yes. He didn’t want to risk holding her and wind up hurting her or something when he had another nightmare. Maybe they could just sleep in the same bed? Or maybe they could just talk. … Except that Steve barely wanted to talk to Dr. Fury, let alone someone who wasn’t a professional. Ah, it didn’t matter. Natasha wasn’t going to come over again.

 

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Initially, the message Natasha had waiting for her when she woke up one morning was more or less the subtle equivalent of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and it made her want to roll her eyes at him. It was that last bit, the ‘thanks anyway’, that made her bristle because it was like he was making the decision for her and he certainly didn’t know her well enough to even attempt that sort of thing. 

On the other hand, why should she care about some random stranger’s problems?

By the time she’d chugged down a cup of coffee and taken a shower to start the day, she knew she was going to give him a second chance. The guy seemed so  _ alone _ and sad… It wasn’t even the professional aspect that had her eager to get back to him; Natasha was just really, really curious about what had happened in his life to make him that way. They could swap horror stories or something. Birds of a feather? All that.

Unsurprisingly, Steve’s response to her agreeing to another session was delayed and then hesitant when it finally came. He seemed genuinely shocked that she’d agree in the first place and Natasha wondered if he’d actually found any comfort in their session in the first place. 

They agreed on the next night and she showed up right on time with her usual duffel bag in tow. 

“You look like you’re ready to run for the hills,” she remarked as she slipped her shoes off near the door. “Bad day?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “No worse than any other normal day,” he shrugged. 

“So about last time--”

“Before you even say anything, I really am sorry for how everything happened. I wish I could control it, y’know, but I can’t--”

“Hey, hey, listen,” she said quickly. “I get it. Happens to the best of us.” 

“Yeah, well… That may be, but I don’t know if I’m ready to try sleeping again. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Natasha smiled a little just because he looked so genuinely concerned for her safety. Ah, if only he knew the background she’d come from. If only he knew how indelicate she was sometimes. 

“We can just lay together,” she suggested. “And maybe talk?” That suggestion might have been a little selfish, but she was sure that no one could blame her for being curious. 

Steve nodded and they headed back into his bedroom to curl up on either side. Steve laid on his back and Natasha chose to lay on her side next to him, her knees drawn up a little bit. 

“I meant to tell you last time-- you have a nice place here,” she murmured. Natasha knew her talents; she’d been told before that her voice could be comforting, so she kept it low and melodic for now. “Very cozy.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah? I don’t have company very often.” 

“No family?” She watched as Steve shifted uncomfortably and made a mental note. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. Remember the rules.” 

“I remember,” he whispered. “But no, I don’t have any family. Not really any friends either.”

He looked so sad. Natasha frowned and inched a little closer to him, which was more than enough to show her just how tired he looked up close. There were bags under his eyes and a certain weariness around them that made her want to get even closer, but she held back so she could ask for permission first. 

“Do you mind if I touch you?” She asked patiently. 

Steve shook his head quickly and that was all she needed. Natasha moved right over to him and lifted his arm so she could lay it around her while she slid her own arm over his waist. She fit perfectly against him, her head pillowed on his chest, and she smiled as she felt him shudder first before slowly relaxing as he tightened his arm around her. Nothing was said for a long time.

 

Steve felt equal parts grateful and impossibly guilty. He was leeching off of Natasha’s good nature at this point and he knew somewhere deep inside that she didn’t want to be there. It was this kind of inequitable division that he came upon his insecurity, his uncertainty, his--

“This is nice, don’t you think?”

Snapped out of his inner turmoil, Steve blinked twice and tried to come up with something to say other than to blindly agree and hope she didn’t dig any further. 

_ Nice enough to set aside how fucking weird I feel about it. _

_ Nicer than I ever would have imagined.  _

“Uh, yeah,” he said, failing all that. “Yeah, it is.”

 

Silence.

 

“You know, Steve, you don’t have to worry about what I’m going to think about you.”

Steve swallowed. “You sure about that?” 

Natasha idly brushed her thumb over a bump on his stomach and shifted again to make herself comfortable. “I’m sure,” she confirmed. “You know why?”

“Tell me why.”

“First of all, because I’m basically an employee and I’m getting paid to be here, not lay around and judge you like I’m perfect or something. And second of all, I’m in no position to judge anyone, especially not for something as involuntary as a nightmare.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but wound up closing it again in no time. She couldn’t judge him for nightmares and that was sweet of her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t wondering all sorts of things about him and probably making presumptions as well. And while he didn’t feel like he had to explain himself to her, he also wanted her to know that he hadn’t always been a basket case, that things had happened to him to make him this way.

“You don’t have to judge me for it,” he mumbled. “I’ve got it covered, don’t you worry.”

Natasha tipped her head up to look at him. “Well, you shouldn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. 

Steve huffed a little bit. “That’s a lot harder than it sounds.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

_ Yes. _

_ No. _

_ Maybe I want to tell you, but I’m terrified to actually tell you because I haven’t  _ _ really _ _ told anyone anything and every time the words almost leave my mouth, it feels like I might pass out. _

“You don’t have to,” she added as she patted his chest twice. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“Believe me, it’s nice of you to offer, I just don’t think anyone wants to hear about my stupid problems.”

“Maybe your stupid problems are like my stupid problems,” she shrugged. “You’ll never know until you talk to me.” 

Steve sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “I didn’t-- think I was hiring another therapist.”

“Ooh, that one hit me where it hurts,” she teased lightly. “But okay, okay, we can just relax.”

 

_ Shit. She probably hates me. _

 

Steve knew it was a bit more than fucking irrational as shit to think that way, but honestly. Why did he have to refuse like that? She was trying to get to know him! She was doing her very best to make his life better just doing what she’d been asked to do; spend time with him. And there he was insulting her and refusing to talk… Ugh, he disgusted himself sometimes. 

As the time ticked on, Steve began to wonder about whether or not he should ask her to leave. It was obvious that talking wasn’t an option, so maybe he was wasting her time… although she did seem pretty comfortable nestled up beside him. He supposed he ought to at least enjoy the company while he could because unless he arranged another session, he had no hope for any other contact or company in the near future.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “I’m not good at the talking thing.”

“What? No! You’re incredibly open and talkative.” 

Steve blanched at first, but Natasha let out a quiet laugh and he relaxed all over again. It was hard to imagine her having this wonderful reaction to him, but there she was. She wasn’t running. She wasn’t forcing him to talk. She wasn’t doing anything he didn’t want her to do.

“I’m kidding, Steve,” she pointed out patiently. “Laugh a little.”

She pushed herself up a little bit and smiled down at him, loose curls falling over her shoulder as he considered what he ought to say in response. Honestly, nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like the perfect thing to say to her right now other than to tell her how fucking beautiful she looked with the warm light from his lamp making her hair glow and her eyes shine…

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short when a little beep came from Natasha’s phone where it was sitting on the bedside table. Oh. Their session was up.

Natasha was still looking at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world as he slowly sat up, which was equal parts disturbing and worrying considering he felt like a useless lump of muscle most of the time. He supposed in her line of work, it was just nice to find someone who wasn’t trying to touch her inappropriately-- or maybe she just appreciated a mystery.

“Well, I think we did better this time,” she said as she slid out of bed and led the way into the living room. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

_ I’m glad one of us is sure of something. _

Steve didn’t manage any words at all as she slipped her shoes on and pulled her jacket on to leave. He was grateful; so grateful, in fact, that he actually wanted to arrange their next session right now and he might have if it wouldn’t look so incredibly eager. But as Natasha opened the door to his apartment and turned back to give him a smile, Steve knew that he had to man up and actually speak.

“Thank you,” he said quickly-- and a little too loudly. “For trying again. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Natasha winked at him and she was gone after that, leaving Steve’s apartment quiet and entirely too empty. He missed her already.

 

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“Okay, literally all I’m getting from this is that your new buddy there is a fucking nutcase.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Come on, you’re one to talk,” she commented. “He’s just been through something, you can tell. He looks at me like he’s ready to kiss my feet for coming over.”

Clint snorted and readjusted the straw in his milkshake for the thousandth time, stabbing through the lumps of ice cream a little too aggressively for her liking. “Maybe he’s just getting off on making you feel sorry for him. I mean, maybe as soon as you leave, he’s jerking it to the thought of you. Point is, you don’t fucking  _ know _ \--”

“I’m going back next week.”

“Natasha,” he groaned. “Come on, can’t you just get a normal job?”

“Not one that pays this well and works around my schedule and isn’t even more seedy.”

“You’d probably make a killing as a stripper.” He held up his hand in surrender and smiled teasingly before letting out another sigh. “You’re still carrying your mace, right?”

“Yes, not that I’ve ever had to actually use it.” 

“Good,” he mumbled. “I mean, I’m still not happy about it, but apparently that doesn’t matter.”

“Nope.” She leaned back and popped another fry into her mouth. “My body, my rules. You know how it works.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t come crying to me when Mr. Sensitive makes a sudden move on you.”

Natasha shrugged. “You’ve seen his picture,” she reminded him. “I don’t think I’d mind.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Rule #3: The cuddle space is sacred and honesty is expected from both parties.

 

“It’s not like I don’t want to tell her and be honest and all that, but--”

“But what? Steve, not everyone is out to get you.”

_ If pointing out the obvious was a sport, Fury would be an Olympic gold medalist. _

Steve pouted a little. “I know that,” he said defensively. “Doesn’t mean she won’t look at me like I’m broken or something. Doesn’t matter if I am or not; I just don’t want the pity.”

“It could be empathy,” Fury suggested. “Empathy. Sympathy. Understanding. It doesn’t always have to be pity.”

_ But nine times out of ten, it’s pity. And I don’t want pity. I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me. _

“Try to open up to her.” 

_ Easier said than done. Why don’t  _ _ you _ _ fucking open up to someone? You’re more of a goddamn enigma than any normal person has any right to be. _

Obviously Steve knew that he was being stubborn, but it just felt like Fury was simplifying something that was actually really difficult. If he didn’t have trouble with shit like this, he wouldn’t be seeing a therapist in the first place. Instead, he would be out there living his life.

“I can try.”

“That’s all I can ask. You see good in people, Steve. See the good in her, throw caution to the wind, and be honest.”

 

On Steve’s walk home that afternoon, he considered what Dr. Fury had asked him to do. He supposed that he could just come out with it; Natasha seemed kind of interested in his story, which was an unexpected thing in itself. But honestly, what would that say about him? He knew he shouldn’t really care since Natasha was basically a perfect stranger, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted her to like him, for lack of a better way to put it. There was a part of him that wanted to know for sure that Natasha wasn’t hating every second she spent with him. 

When he got home, he gave in and booked another session with Natasha. This time, she asked him if they might be able to eat together and Steve wondered if that was customary. Was he special or something? Or did she just suggest eating together in the hopes that he might actually relax? Either way, he didn’t mind giving it a shot since she’d brought it up.

With a comfortable evening in mind, he chose to order in rather than attempt to cook something and possibly fail. That would up his anxiety in a bad way and then everything would be terrible afterwards. Instead, he asked Natasha that afternoon what she might want for dinner and was happy to find that she was a-okay with ordering pizza. He ordered a pie and it arrived not five minutes after she did, thankfully. It was perfect timing; just quick enough to prevent him from making an ass of himself  _ before _ he had something in his stomach.

“This is so good.” Natasha groaned through a mouthful of pizza and Steve just stared at her with his own slice folded and halfway to his mouth. “Seriously, where did you get this?” As she went to close the box a little and get a look at the name, Steve managed to pull himself out of his comatose state and clear his throat.

“It’s from Tony’s? Just around the corner. They’re the best.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” she agreed. “I feel like all the pizza in my neighborhood just pales in comparison.”

“Where do you live?”

Natasha tilted her head at him and Steve did what he could to recover. 

“Not that I’m… planning on stalking you or anything,” he said quickly. “That’s definitely not what I meant. I just figured… y’know, based on the neighborhood, some places just don’t have great pizza…”

“There are a lot of Jewish people around me, actually. So most of the places are Kosher and they’re not all bad, but… some of them are pret-ty bad.” 

“Ah, yeah, I know what you mean. I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood and it was usually get something else, or walk to the next neighborhood for pizza.” 

They were quiet for a few minutes after that and Steve’s mind was on constant overdrive as he asked himself about a thousand questions he couldn’t answer. What if this and what if that and it was overwhelming just how unbelievably paranoid he felt even though all they were doing was enjoying their food in a relatively comfortable silence.

“Your forehead creases when you’re worried; did you know that?”

Blinking in surprise, Steve looked over to Natasha and shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“What are you worried about?”

“...Nothing.”

_ Everything. _

Natasha raised her eyebrows and smiled a little, which just succeeded in making him feel like she was looking straight through him. She was a human lie detector, that one. 

“I’m worried about trying to talk to you.” 

“I’m not that scary, am I?”

Steve had to smile. Scary? No. Not on the surface. But she was terrifying in that she represented all the things he didn’t feel he was ready to face: real life, the truth about what he’d been through, all the things he’d lost…

He was being quiet for way too long.

“I was MIA for over a year.”

Natasha wiped her hands on her napkin and frowned a little before pulling another piece of cheese off her pizza and popping it into her mouth. “That must have been rough. Where were you?”

Steve huffed a little and rubbed a hand through his hair. He was done for now; talking was hard enough without stuffing his mouth with more pizza. He didn’t want to put himself at risk for throwing up, especially considering he knew what they were going to do next. 

“That’s a little harder to explain,” he admitted quietly.

Natasha reached out to touch his knee and Steve relished the rather new feeling of satisfaction that swelled up inside him at her contact. God, he was pathetic. 

“Let’s go inside, okay? You can tell me while we’re cuddling.”

 

This time, Steve laid on his back and Natasha cuddled up beside him again. She let her head rest on his chest and her arm rest around his waist. Steve liked the position if only because it meant she wouldn’t be able to see him dead on while he spoke about his past. 

“I joined the army when I was nineteen,” he started. “One year of art school under my belt and I felt like the best thing I could do was follow my best friend into the service. I mean, everyone wants to make their country a better place, right? Everyone wants to do the right thing.”

_ Except that nothing ever got better, did it? Soldiers were killed and politicians were safe at home with their families no matter what suicide missions they ordered. No matter how many medals they gave out or how many kind words they said on television, they didn’t really care.  _

“I was in the army for a while, promoted up to Captain within a year or so. Then they saw something in me and put me in the special forces, gave me my own team…”

_ They trusted me. And I let down the one person who’d always been there for me.  _

“I asked my best friend to be a part of it, to follow me even though he’d always been the one protecting me in the past, even though he was probably more capable in the long run, even though he had more experience. And I’m the reason he never came home.”

Thinking about Bucky was like a sliver of glass right through the heart. Steve stared up at the ceiling and tried to pretend that tears weren’t gathering in his eyes, but there was really no way to hide it. As far as he was concerned, there would always be a gaping hole left in his heart from Bucky’s loss; it was like losing a brother, like losing the one person who  _ always _ thought he was worth something even when he didn’t believe in himself. 

Natasha pressed herself closer and lightly rubbed her hand over his chest. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she whispered. 

“It doesn’t matter that I’m not the one who shot him,” he said defiantly. “He was my responsibility, he was on  _ my _ team. He trusted me.”

“It sounds like you’d do anything to keep him safe. If that’s not someone worth trusting, then who is?” 

Steve was silent for a moment. She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t heard before; even Peggy had told him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was Bucky’s choice to follow him, that he died serving his country… It was a tragedy, but it wasn’t Steve’s fault. That knowledge didn’t keep it from weighing on his conscience, however. He missed his best friend more than he could possibly say and his nightmares didn’t seem to agree that he had no part in Bucky’s death.

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone,” he mumbled eventually. “He’s  _ gone _ .”

“Nothing’s going to change that.” Natasha’s voice was even and strong despite the topic; Steve actually admired her for that because he felt like he’d become one of those people who crumbled at the slightest mention of someone he’d lost. Death was a fact of life. It was the one thing no one could avoid and he wanted to be more matter of fact about it, but he… he was still mourning after all this time. “But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have wanted you to keep going.”

She was right. Steve knew for sure that Bucky would have wanted him to be happy, but it wasn’t that simple. “Why should I get to go on and be happy when he never got to really live his life?”

Natasha pushed herself up a little and Steve found himself staring into her eyes.

 

“Because you’re  _ alive _ .”

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

 

_ Shit. Now she’s really gonna think I’m some kind of nutcase. _

“Take my word for it; if you were supposed to be dead, then you would be dead. Being a survivor is harder than being one of the people who doesn’t ever come home, but it means that we have to keep going because we’re meant to. What’s the point of living if we do nothing with our lives?”

“You know, you’re a surprisingly optimistic person,” he blurted out. 

Natasha smiled. “Or a fantastic actor.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I’d be real disappointed if this was all an act.”

“Most people don’t want brutal honesty from me,” she quipped. “But I’m not lying. It’s your life; don’t waste it.”

“And if you were brutally honest with me?”

Natasha hesitated for a second before seemingly making up her mind to bow to her client’s wishes. “I’d tell you that you’re wasting your time dwelling on the past. People die every day and it sucks, but if you start wasting every single day thinking about all the things you’ve lost, you’re going to wind up waking up an old man having not done anything else with his life. And I know I don’t know you very well or anything, but you seem like you deserve better than that.”

Heavy silence fell around them as Steve let Natasha’s words sink in. No one spoke to him like that. Ever since he’d woken up at the military hospital having skipped almost a year of his life, it felt like everyone from the doctors to the nurses to his therapist to the person on the other end of the line at his bank was trying their best to handle him with kid gloves. And here was Natasha just laying it on the line and speaking to him like a grown up, like there was nothing wrong with him. It was refreshing.

Before he could answer, her watch beeped to signal the end of their session and Natasha stood up to straighten her shirt and push a hand through her hair. Steve slowly sat up, but he wasn’t sure what to say now. 

“You know,” she said quietly. “I’ve lost people too.”

Steve turned his unsure gaze back up to her and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Natasha looked like she had ghosts just then; Steve didn’t want to pry, but he wanted to listen to her talk about them. He wanted to know how she seemed to understand him so effortlessly. “Maybe next time, okay?”

This time, she left him feeling… odd. He laid back down on his bed and laced his fingers together behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Natasha was one hell of a woman, wasn’t she? Everything just felt so much better when she was there, but it also felt dangerous to let himself get so close to someone. She wasn’t there because she wanted to be; she was there because he was paying her to be there. Steve felt like he needed to remind himself of that fact every now and then if he wanted to come out of this in one piece. 

 

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“Steve Rogers, you said, right?”

Natasha nodded as she picked at the plate of french fries in front of her. Clint had about had enough of all the mystery surrounding Natasha’s cuddle buddy and now that he knew there was a military record involved, he was determined to find something about the guy that might end the whole arrangement. 

“You’re not going to find anything,” she mumbled. “He was missing in action, not AWOL.”

“So he says.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha took a sip of her milkshake and went back to scrolling through instagram while Clint finished up his little witch hunt. She severely doubted he’d find anything bad about Steve; the guy was so clean cut, it was a little hard to believe he’d ever done anything wrong his whole life. 

“Bingo,” Clint mumbled- and that got Natasha’s attention, but she said nothing. “It’s not what I wanted, but… apparently your boy wasn’t just MIA.” 

He held up his phone and showed her an article titled ‘Captain America Returns!’ with a picture of Steve in uniform underneath. Who the hell. Natasha grabbed the phone and sat back to browse the article itself, which detailed the loss of this amazing war hero and his triumphant return nearly six months later, only to slip into a deep coma. He’d been tortured and held captive, and it was the kind of thing that no one ever imagined actually happening to them.

Captain America. He was a goddamn hero.

 

“Steve, do you remember when we talked about the rules?”

_ Uh oh _ .

“Yeah, I remember,” he said slowly. “What did I do wrong?”

“You’re supposed to be honest.” Natasha was still sizing him up; what kind of guy didn’t just come out and say that he was  _ honored _ for all the shit he’d done while he was overseas? She understood humility, but this was ridiculous. “And maybe let me know I’m cuddling with  _ Captain America _ .”

Steve paled and she immediately felt bad for confronting him the way she had. The way he lowered his eyes made her feel like he didn’t really approve of the name, like it had been bestowed upon him without his consent or something. 

Softening a little bit, she leaned over to give him a gentle nudge. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m not Captain America,” he reasoned. “I’m Steve.”

“Steve, you were given the medal of honor and a whole bunch of other stuff I’ve never heard of all because of what you did  _ as _ Captain America.”

“So what?” That defiance was the most passion she’d seen from him as of yet. “Makes it sound like I wasn’t worth a damn thing until they gave me that stupid name.” 

“No one’s saying that.” 

“You weren’t there,” he mumbled. “You don’t know.”

Natasha  _ wanted _ to know. She wanted to know exactly how Mr. All-American had fallen so low.

This time, she didn’t wait for them to get to the bed. She curled up right beside him there on the couch and draped her legs over his thigh for a bit more warmth and contact than usual. This wasn’t an easy subject and she wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. While he did relax a little bit, she was beginning to think that Steve’s shoulders would never be anything but tense. 

“Soon as my face got in the papers, people started calling me that. And then they wanted me for posters and press and all this shit I didn’t want to be involved with. I wanted to help, you know? But I felt like I could be doing so much more if I was just allowed to stay under the radar and do my job.” 

He shrugged. “After a while, after people start to love you for some character they think you’re playing, you start to wonder whether or not the you underneath all that is worth anything. I was Steve Rogers way before I became Captain America.”

Natasha let her head rest on his shoulder.

“But it was you that did all that amazing stuff. The title isn’t what turned you into a hero; you did that all on your own.”

Steve let out a puff of air and shook his head. “I’m a hero for doing the right thing? C’mon. I’m just a guy who did what he could to help.”

“You saved  _ a lot _ of people, Steve. I read the articles about you, I know exactly what you did.”

Pause. “Hey, what were you doing looking me up in the first place?”

Well, Natasha supposed she should have known that he’d ask eventually. “My friend doesn’t approve of my job and wanted to find a reason for me to cancel our next session. Instead, he found… well, the exact opposite. You should have seen his face.” 

“I mean, I’m not the safest option,” he mumbled. “Ask anyone; I’m not right in the head.”

Natasha huffed out a small laugh and looked up at him. “You don’t scare me, Steve Rogers.”

 

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All things considered, Natasha finding out about his stupid title and all the medals and stuff wasn’t the worst thing to happen. Steve was embarrassed by most of it, but she didn’t seem to be set on treating him differently for it, so everything was fine. He appreciated that she was only poking fun at him for it; she’d started calling him ‘Cap’ here and there like it was a private joke between them. Maybe it actually was. Maybe he was actually developing a friendship.

The reminder that he was paying her to be there came at the end of each and every session, but it wasn’t as painful as Steve might have imagined. The fact of the matter was that he was enjoying their sessions regardless of the money and he hoped beyond everything else that Natasha was enjoying them too. Most of the time they just talked, but Steve had slowly made peace with trying to sleep again and wound up getting the  _ best _ hour and a half of sleep he’d gotten in ages. When he’d woken up after that with his nose in Natasha’s neck and his arms around her waist, he very nearly considered kissing her feet in gratitude. If that was the very, very least he could get out of this arrangement, he’d take it. He hadn’t had that much sleep and that much energy thereafter in quite a long time.

More than anything else, he kept looking back on the fierce determination in Natasha’s eyes when she’d assured him that he didn’t scare her. Maybe that was ill-advised considering his outbursts, but she hadn’t even seemed fazed by them the same way she wasn’t too fazed by the whole ‘Captain America’ deal. For such a small package, she was terribly strong. 

And she had been right when she said that he was wasting his life. Steve had been granted so many good things over the years and he was squandering them by just sitting around mourning the past. The nightmares couldn’t be stopped by sheer willpower, but he could make the decision to get up off his ass and go outside. He could definitely do that.

He could also make the choice to confront certain things about what had happened in the army without being such a goddamn coward. All those medals that had been given to him for bravery and shit, and yet Steve hadn’t convinced himself to visit Bucky’s grave  _ or _ Bucky’s family. 

 

That stopped right now.

 

Despite the fact that he’d spent two days working up to it, Steve was still shaking like a goddamn leaf when he arrived outside the Barnes residence. It looked just like it had when they were kids; old and well built, with a swing on the porch and a welcome mat outside the door. Steve felt like he might throw up behind the bushes or something, but he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and moved forward, eventually hitting the doorbell and readjusting his grip on the flowers in his hand.

_ Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic… _

At the first sight of her, Steve hardly recognized Rebecca standing in front of him. She’d really grown up since the last time he saw her; she’d sprouted upwards and filled out and she looked so much like Bucky that his eyes very nearly filled with tears right then and there. 

“Hi,” he offered meekly. “Becca, you’re so--” He faltered there and shook his head. “I’m so--”

_ Sorry _ .

He didn’t get the chance to say it. Becca stepped onto the porch and wrapped her arms around his neck so fast that Steve nearly dropped the flowers in his effort to steady himself and catch her at the same time. His eyes burned terribly as she held onto him and he slowly brought one hand to her back as he dropped his head down to her shoulder. 

It was the scent that really got to him. Becca smelled like the potpourri her mother used to put out on the coffee table and the fresh baked bread she was known for when they were kids. She smelled like home in a way that might have made Steve’s tears bubble over were it not for the fact that he felt so guilty and hollow underneath everything else. Becca was always Bucky’s favorite; she was the youngest of the five siblings and she  _ always _ wanted to come with them wherever they were going. Steve used to think of her as a sister as well, and constantly rebutted Bucky’s claims that she had some kind of crush on him. 

When she finally pulled away, she sniffled and wiped at her eyes before lightly punching him in the shoulder. 

“Where have you been?” She asked. There was fire in her eyes and he wasn’t surprised in the slightest; Becca had always been spirited. “We heard you’d been found, but we didn’t know where to find you.” 

Steve shook his head a little and tried to come up with an answer that might be considered acceptable. He came up blank, but that wasn’t a surprise either. Where had he been? In denial.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I wanted to come, but I just--”

“Becca?” 

They both froze, or maybe Steve imagined it. Either way,  _ he _ went stiff as a board.

“Honey, who’s at the door?”

Winifred looked exactly the same as Steve remembered her. She was wearing her hair long now, and tied into a loose braid that fell over her right shoulder. Her eyes were still soft and kind, Bucky’s eyes, though there were wrinkles around him that were new; he hoped most were from laughter and not mourning. At the sight of her, Steve felt like he was reduced to a seven year old boy all over again. He was easily twice her size, but he felt so small and so helpless, and so guilty. 

The tears came at last, before either of them had said anything at all. Steve could feel them building up and feel them blurring his vision at last. How could she not hate him? It was his fault she’d lost her son, her  _ only _ son. He shouldn’t have come, he didn’t deserve to stand in front of her and hope to God that she could forgive him. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, not after what he’d done, not after all he’d taken from her.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out at last. The flowers in his right hand were all but screaming for help under the ferocity of his grip and Steve lifted his free hand to his face, where he shakily tried to wipe off the evidence of his tears.

Winifred stepped out onto the porch as well and with her sweater wrapped around her, she reached up to touch Steve’s cheek. “Come in, honey. You’ll freeze to death out here.” 

 

Settled at the Barnes’ kitchen table, Steve calmed down and managed to look less like the shell shocked mess he was these days. Winnie immediately had a mug of coffee in front of him and a plate of cookies on the table as she sat down across from him and touched his hand. Steve didn’t flinch away; she felt like a mother to him also. 

“It’s been ages,” she said. “Too long.”

Steve nodded slowly. “I wanted to come sooner.”

“I know you did, sweetheart. I know.”

There was silence between them for a few minutes while Steve sipped his coffee and Winnie not-so-subtly pushed the plate of cookies closer to him. She’d been trying to fatten him up since he was a kid; he appreciated the effort even if he was quite a bit bigger than either of them had ever expected. Steve grabbed a cookie even though he wasn’t hungry because he knew it would make her happy.

“Have you been to visit him?”

Steve hadn’t so much as stepped out the door with the notion of going to visit Bucky’s grave. He knew Bucky was buried in the Jewish cemetery over in Cyprus Hills, he knew how to get there… but the thought of it was just too much for him. 

“No,” he admitted. “I haven’t. I’m sure it’s a… a nice grave.”

Winnie nodded. “Next to his father,” she said quietly. 

Steve bowed his head in shame. “I should have gone,” he mumbled. “I should have been there a hundred times by now, over and over again…” He licked his lips and sat back as he lightly pushed his coffee away and set his half eaten cookie down on a napkin. “I should have protected him.”

“And gotten yourself killed instead? No one’s thinking that, Steve. You have to know that.”

_ No one except me, huh? _

“Bucky wouldn’t have wanted that either.”

Steve practically paled as he rubbed a hand over his face. “I just wish things were different.”

“But they’re not,” Winnie reminded him. “And running away from that isn’t going to make them change.” She wasn’t usually a harsh person and even those truths were spoken in a soft voice; Steve felt like she saved that voice for him sometimes. “You know your mother would have told you to get back on the horse and stop whining.”

Steve actually let out a soft laugh. His mother would have given him a speech about never giving up, no doubt about it. And he wanted to live up to her expectations, but it felt like he was blocked or something, like he was standing in front of a wall he couldn’t  _ quite _ climb over.

“It’s really good to see you,” he said warmly. “I’ve missed all of you, I just figured…”

“We wouldn’t want to see you? Steve, you’re family.” She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “Becca was beside herself when it all happened. She watched the news every single day until you were found and if we’d been allowed, she would have visited you every day after that.”

Steve felt even more ashamed of himself. “I owe her an apology.”

“I’m sure she’s already forgiven you.”

More silence.

“I miss him,” he admitted quietly. “I miss him so much it hurts.” 

Winnie reached over and took Steve’s hand to give him a little squeeze. “I know you do,” she said quietly. “I miss him too.” 

 

Over more coffee and cookies, they reminisced about Bucky and all the good times they remembered. Eventually, Becca quietly joined them and Steve tried to ignore the fact that she stared at him most of the time she was there. It was probably surreal for her to see him; she’d lost her brother, but his sickly best friend was all well and good-- physically, at least.

“Are we gonna see you again after this?”

Becca actually cut him off mid-story to ask and Steve got the distinct impression that she was daring him to say no. She’d always been so opinionated and bold-- it would seem as though that hadn’t changed even with the vulnerability she was desperately trying to hide.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said carefully. “If that’s okay.”

“You’re coming over for Thanksgiving.”

Becca was the one who made the announcement, but Winnie quickly nodded in agreement as her daughter gestured for Steve’s phone and tapped in her number so they could stay in contact. He wasn’t getting away again, it seemed, not that he actually wanted to.

“...Are you sure?” He asked. “I dunno if I’m good company these days.” 

“Thanksgiving is for family and you’re family,” Winnie reasoned. “I’m sure everyone would love it if you joined us.” 

Steve’s agreement was tentative, but he did agree. Winnie sent him on his way with four big tupperwares stuffed into a tote bag so he didn’t go hungry in the meantime-- he’d be eating each one with something bordering on reverence because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a substantial home-cooked meal. And he looked forward to seeing them again, he really did. It almost felt the same as it always had-- with one huge, notable difference. 

 

That night, he went from feeling relatively happy to realizing with some dread that seeing Bucky’s family had actually made him feel guilty too. Their acceptance and forgiveness didn’t change what he’d done and it sure as fuck didn’t change the situation he was in right now. That little realization made him feel unbelievably ungrateful for them and Steve crawled into bed feeling like something that ought to be stepped on. He just didn’t know when he’d become such a bad person. He used to consider himself a pretty good guy.

**_Are you awake? -SR_ **

It was after exactly three hours of trying to sleep that Steve gave in and finally texted Natasha. She was probably asleep, but he had to give it a shot. 

**_Yeah. But why are_ ** **_you_ ** **_awake? -NR_ **

_ That was one hell of a complicated question. _

**_I saw Bucky’s family today. His mom, and his little sister. -SR_ **

**_They want me to come over for Thanksgiving. -SR_ **

There was a pause after that and Steve tried to figure out why Natasha was up. Maybe she was studying! Or she woke up because he texted her and she was too nice to say otherwise. Or… maybe she was with someone? Maybe she was out at a club on a- he thought for a moment -Thursday night. 

**_That sounds like a good thing, but I get the feeling you’re stressing about it. -NR_ **

Ah, she knew him so well. 

**_It’s not fair that I get to have a family like that. Like I didn’t do anything wrong, like nothing bad ever happened. It was good to see them, but… -SR_ **

**_I just don’t think I can forgive myself the way they have. -SR_ **

They were better people than he was, even without considering the fact that he hadn’t looked after Bucky the way he should have.

**_We’ve talked about this before, Steve. You didn’t do anything wrong. -NR_ **

**_What would Bucky want you to do? -NR_ **

_ Another hard question.  _

If Bucky didn’t hate him for what he’d done, which Steve couldn’t imagine even in his lowest moments, then he would want Steve to be happy. He’d want Steve to take care of his mother and Becca as much as he could. He’d want Steve to play the protective older brother now because he couldn’t. 

**_He would have wanted me to protect them. -SR_ **

Bucky would be the kind of brother who stood menacingly in the doorway when Becca went out on dates no matter how politically incorrect. He was the kind of brother who would take the younger ones back and forth from school and help them with their homework and be a mentor. But Steve didn’t know if he could really accomplish all that considering he could barely take care of himself these days. It wasn’t as easy as coming around more often. 

**_It’s not your job to protect anyone. But I bet he’d want you to be there for them as much as you can. And I bet they’d appreciate it too. -NR_ **

**_Go to sleep, Steve. You took a big step today. -NR_ **

She was right. He had taken a big step and he was fucking exhausted, thank you very much. Besides, now that Steve had calmed down a little bit, the decision to text Natasha in the middle of the night didn’t seem so wise. 

**_Thanks. And thanks for answering. You’re the best. -SR_ **

After that, he went to sleep thinking not about Winnie and Becca, but about Natasha. Maybe he should do something for her, just to show how grateful he was to have her in his life. Was that weird, considering he was paying her? Didn’t really matter, did it? Steve had never been one to bow to social pressure and he wouldn’t start now. The next time Natasha came over, he was going to make sure he had a ‘thank you’ gift with her name on it.

 

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Natasha knew it was stupid, but after she’d put her phone down after wishing Steve a good night, she just had to grab it again and bring up the last message he’d sent her. 

**_Thanks. And thanks for answering. You’re the best. -SR_ **

In the pitch black of her room, only the screen of her phone was illuminated with those words and it felt like she might start to actually giggle or something. He was just so pure; he said what he thought without fear of judgement most of the time and she really respected him for that, not to mention the fact that he was so unendingly honest about himself. He wasn’t pretending to be someone else-- even if he wanted to, he just wasn’t that good at it. 

And yeah, he’d probably said what he’d said off handedly, but… Natasha kept looking at it all the same. 

_ He thinks I’m the best _ .

 

The next time Natasha got to Steve’s apartment, he was uncharacteristically nervous. She hadn’t seen him like that since the second time they got together, after his nightmare and everything. It was weird because he was trying very hard to act like nothing was wrong and it didn’t actually feel like something  _ was _ wrong, but something was different and she was keenly aware of that. 

“You-- Did you get a haircut?”

Steve nodded quickly. “I did.”

Natasha continued studying him from across the kitchen table. “And you shaved.”

“Uh huh. I did.”

Suspicious. “What’s the occasion? Hot date?”

Steve’s cheeks went pink and Natasha actually smiled a little despite herself. Maybe she was the hot date, right? Maybe he got all cleaned up for her? Of course, she shouldn’t have been so eager to hear such a thing, but such was life. 

“No, I just… figured it was time to get my shit together.”

Ah, so he was trying to make a life for himself. He was trying to improve himself and work through whatever was going on in his head all the time. Natasha was equal parts proud of him and just a little upset that he might cancel their meetings if he improved  _ too _ much. 

That probably made her a bad person. Steve deserved to be happy no matter what.

“Well, that’s nice,” she said calmly. “You look good.”

_ There’s definitely something else going on here _ .

“There’s one more thing, though,” he added.

_ Ah, there it is. _

“See, I was thinking about… how good you’ve been to me and I just wanted to show my appreciation somehow. I haven’t seen you wear much jewelry and I didn’t want to get you food because it doesn’t last, so I made you something.” 

Getting up, Steve disappeared for a few moments and returned with a small canvas that he bashfully presented to her. On it was a beautifully done watercolor painting of Central Park; he’d used lots of different colors and shades to create the whole image, but her gaze was immediately drawn to the figures off to the side holding hands as they walked the path together. The woman wore a red jacket, the man a brown hat. It was impossibly simple and yet impossibly romantic at the same time. 

“What-- What made you pick this painting for me?”

Steve sat down again and shook his head. “No, I painted it with you in mind,” he explained. “Central Park is always hectic, right? There’s always someone around or something going on. But if you go there often enough, there are quiet moments. There are times when it’s just you and a couple of other people and nature. And it doesn’t even feel like you’re in the city anymore.” He shrugged a little. “That’s… sort of how I see you, I guess.”

Natasha didn’t know what to say. 

_ How is everyone not just spontaneously falling in love with this guy? _

“Thank you,” she said eventually. “I’ve never had anyone draw something for me before.”

“It’s not too much, is it? I was trying to go for normal, but I’m not even sure I know what ‘normal’ is anymore.” 

Natasha looked up and smiled. “I’ve never met a normal person in my life.”

When they crawled into Steve’s bed shortly after that, Natasha positioned herself at Steve’s side and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You’re sweeter than you think you are, you know that?”

Steve huffed a little bit and smiled. “Nah, you’re biased.”

Maybe so. Maybe she  _ was _ biased. But Natasha couldn’t bring herself to care. Steve was very sweet and she wanted him to know that; now that he was improving (she could see it in the fact that he looked cleaner and healthier and happier) she thought he should start to work on his self worth. Of course, being cleaner and healthier and happier only made him appear more handsome-- but that was beside the point. As she settled in with her head on his chest and toyed with his fingers while she asked him about when he’d started to paint and what his favorite materials were, she knew that she really had his best interest in mind.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Rule #4: Sexual arousal is natural, but won’t be acted upon. _

 

As time went on, Steve began to feel like he was actually making some progress. Dr. Fury wasn’t always so optimistic about the little things, but Steve actually loved that he was able to continue to see Natasha and just be around her. Holding her became something he desperately looked forward to not only because he liked how she smelled and appreciated the opportunity to sleep peacefully, but because he liked how alive he felt when she was there. 

Natasha was the kind of person who could talk about anything. She had this amazing mass of knowledge that encompassed everything from bizarre ailments and the like (“Did you know that there’s a condition called persistent sexual arousal syndrome?”) to random facts about the world (“There’s this golf course that has sharks living in the water in Australia-- I mean, duh, of course it’s Australia-- I wanna go see it. Don’t you? As long as you don’t go in the water…”) to recent scientific discoveries (“Life on Mars! If it’s possible, I want up there. Imagine just looking out your bedroom window and seeing the whole  _ universe _ just outside.”). He constantly wondered when she had time to read about all this stuff when she was working and in school and everything, but he’d never dream of complaining about it. Listening to her talk was the equivalent of a lullabye sometimes; he’d fall asleep with her fingers in his hair or her head on his chest or whatever and have the best sleep of the week, by far. 

Dr. Fury seemed happy with the progress he’d made; Steve was a lot easier to talk to when he was getting regular sleep and actually letting someone comfort him. He encouraged more, but he understood that there were still issues Steve had to work through in order to function like a normal adult. 

And Steve… relied on his meetings with Natasha. He usually found himself eager for their next session about twenty minutes after the previous session ended and while he refused to actually text her and tell her that, he did usually follow up with a quick ‘thank you’ text. He didn’t want anything to ruin what they had, not when he was clinging to their visits like a starving man to his last scrap of food. He did what he could to avoid thinking about how he might not need that kind of physical affection from her if he was getting hugs and kisses from Winnie and Becca all the time… especially because it wasn’t  _ all _ the time and it wasn’t like they were going to stroke his hair or nap with him. He still had every reason in the world to keep texting Natasha.

With that said, he knew he had to grab himself a big dose of reality because he was starting to appreciate Natasha’s company in a way that simply wasn’t appropriate. It was harder to imagine cuddling with her on the regular if he was also thinking about how she looked and how she smelled and how he really,  _ really _ loved listening to her talk. Steve just knew himself, that was all. He knew he was prone to falling in love and he couldn’t let that happen this time because he didn’t want to lose her like he’d lost so many other people. He didn’t know if he could handle that even with the progress he’d made so far.

 

The next time she arrived, Steve greeted her with the same big smile he’d come to associate with her visits and hung her coat up on the rack nearby. Now that it was getting really cold outside, she was arriving with boots and a scarf and a coat and honestly, it made him feel just a little less guilty for the cuddling; he kept her warm, she kept him sane. 

“It’s freezing out there,” she sighed as she kicked her boots off. “How are you wearing a tshirt?”

Steve shrugged. “I run hot, you know that.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow and gave him a teasing look. “Yep. I do know that.”

Blushing lightly, Steve rolled his eyes and offered her something to drink like he always did. She accepted this time and within a few minutes, they were landing on the couch with two cups of hot cocoa. Steve didn’t mind just spending time with her, really. Natasha was so interesting. Sometimes she’d talk about what she was learning in school or a dance that she was having trouble with, like right now, and then sometimes they talked about her best friend or what she’d had for breakfast or… whatever was going on in her head. She hadn’t  _ quite _ opened up to him about the past she’d eluded to some time ago, but it really wasn’t his place to insist.

“You know,” she said eventually as they settled down on his bed under a thick blanket. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a while whether or not you actually know that you could get someone to cuddle with you without paying them. Not that I don’t enjoy our sessions, but I’ve been wondering.”

Steve licked his lips nervously. “I think I’m gonna take that as a compliment,” he began, but she poked him in the ribs and he laughed softly. “I know that I could  _ probably _ get someone to cuddle with. But you’re the only one I’ve-- um.” Fuck. “I just feel comfortable with you. The nightmares have died down, I’m sleeping better…” 

Natasha tipped her head back a little bit to study him. “Maybe that would carry over to a real girlfriend,” she suggested. “There’s only one way to find out.”

_ Yeah, but I want that girlfriend to be you.  _

“I guess,” he said slowly. “Maybe that’ll be my resolution for next year.”

Natasha shook her head fondly and turned onto her side so Steve could move in close behind her. He wrapped his arm around her waist without any prompting and buried his nose in her hair as gently as he always did. This was going to be the best sleep he got that week, unless he caved and invited her back for another session… or two. Truth be told, Steve thought he might be addicted to the rest he got when she was there with him.

Unfortunately, it would seem that Steve was getting just a little  _ too _ comfortable. He’d fallen asleep as usual and kept her tucked right into his chest where she belonged, but when he woke up he was suffering from something much more humiliating than a nightmare. And the worst thing was that he wasn’t sure what to do. Natasha often fell asleep with him, she might not even notice--

“Steve? I know you’re awake.”

_ Fucking shit. _

He froze for a moment before slowly rolling away and putting some distance between her perfect, beautiful ass and his very prominent erection. Honestly. What was he, some horny teenager?

“I am  _ so _ sorry,” he mumbled, grabbing a pillow to place over his crotch while he blushed about as hotly as a person possibly could. “I’m so fucking sorry, oh my God.”

Natasha turned over and faced him. She didn’t look particularly offended, but he figured she couldn’t be pleased either. “It’s okay,” she said. He could hear her trying to avoid sounding too amused. “Really.”

“How can it possibly be okay?” He groaned. “I feel like I’m six-fucking-teen.”

There was a little smile that lit up her face after that; honestly, he would have thought it was incredibly sweet if he wasn’t still half-hard and humiliated. “It’s totally natural,” she insisted with a little shrug. 

Steve didn’t mention that he hadn’t even-- really had the drive to see to that sort of thing lately. It came with the depression and PTSD, apparently. Lack of sex drive, especially when he had no experience with actual sex to begin with, hadn’t been much of a problem… until now, when his libido sat up and took notice of how good Natasha felt in his arms.

“Come on, it’s a comfortable position. And it’s not like you started grinding against me--”

Steve stared at her in mute horror and she chuckled.

“Take it easy, okay? It’s not the first time.”

“It’s  _ not _ ?”

“Nope. It happens all the time, actually. And all it means is that you’re comfortable and relaxed, so I really don’t mind.”

Steve actually started to believe her. “I don’t know what came over me,” he mumbled. 

“You must have spooned before,” she reasoned.

“Well, yeah, but--” He shrugged. “I was always the little spoon.”

Natasha tilted her head to the side. “Really?”

Steve huffed out a laugh and rolled over to pull a few pictures out of his bedside table. He handed them over to her and pointed to the first boy with dark hair and a strong chin and a wide smile. “That’s my best friend, Bucky,” he explained. They’d talked about him before, so he knew she’d understand how important he’d been to Steve. “And that--” He indicated the scrawny blond kid. “That’s me.”

Natasha balked as all people would, he supposed. “No way,” she said, sitting up to get a good look at the pictures in her hands. “No  _ way _ .”

“I know, right?” Sometimes even Steve couldn’t quite connect the person in the pictures with the person he was now. He’d changed so much since then. 

“Well, okay, but… I mean. Are you telling me you never felt a little something…?”

Steve went scarlet. “I mean, uh, some--sometimes--”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “I feel like you have secrets, Cap,” she teased lightly. “Naughty secrets.” 

Ha. Yeah, right. Steve didn't even have semi-naughty secrets. His secrets, or at least his secret  _ actions _ , were strictly PG-13. 

Smiling encouragingly, Natasha moved closer again and rested her chin on Steve’s chest. “Tell me one of them?”

Steve hesitated for a second before beginning to speak. “Back when I was five foot nothing and ninety pounds soaking wet, I used to get sick real easy, right? So my friend would share a bed with me to keep warm in the winter.” It was hard to talk about it, but he tried to focus on how amazing their relationship had been. “And yeah, there was this one time…” He sighed. “He got hard,” he said awkwardly. “While he was sleeping. Can’t say I discouraged the contact.”

Natasha’s smile widened. “Steve, you dog,” she teased lightly. “So did he wake up?”

“Nah, he just-- rubbed, you know? Pretended like nothing happened in the morning.”

He could see it; there was realization that dawned in Natasha’s eyes and Steve was pretty sure he knew exactly what she’d figured out. It wasn’t all too apparent, he thought, but when he got around to talking about sex or skating around the issue of sex, maybe something about the way he talked about it made the fact that he was a virgin way, way too obvious.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said quickly when she opened her mouth to speak. “It’s not. It’s just something I haven’t gotten around to.”

Natasha closed her mouth and nodded in understanding. 

“I mean, lots of people haven’t,” he continued against his better judgement. He was lecturing the ceiling now, his cheeks burning hot despite his righteous indignation about the whole thing. It was just sex! Sex didn’t  _ mean _ anything. “And I would have, if I had the chance, but I didn’t, so…”

“Steve.”

He turned his head towards Natasha and watched her for a long moment while she gave him a kind, reassuring smile. Over the time he’d known her, she only smiled like that a handful of times and each time he seemed to relish it more than the last. 

“It’s okay,” she said easily. “Sex isn’t for everyone.”

 

Hours later, after she’d left him with a little kiss on his cheek and a promise that she’d be there next week at the same time, Steve thought about what she’d said. ‘Sex isn’t for everyone’, just like that. He didn’t know whether he should be happy that she accepted him the way he was or… just a little disappointed that she hadn’t thought about him that way. 

Sex was  _ for _ him, he wanted to say. He just hadn’t gotten a chance yet.

Peggy was the last person he felt like he might have gotten a chance to be with, not just in a physical way, but in a real relationship. He’d loved her so much and then all that shit had to happen and ruin it-- it really wasn’t his fault. Was it? Maybe it was. He was the one who’d made the decision to be a goddamn hero instead of just listening to her.

Natasha might even like him the way he liked her, but he’d never know unless he opened his mouth and asked her… and the likelihood of that happening was dwindling with every session he spent with her. He wasn’t going to say a goddamn thing. Bucky would be so ashamed.

 

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Natasha left that night feeling oddly powerful. She hadn’t lied; it wasn’t the first time Steve had gotten hard while they cuddled together and he certainly wasn’t the first client to do so. But the thing was that when Steve reacted the way he had, she’d known right off the bat that there was something he wasn’t saying. The fact that he was honest with her was encouraging, sure, but the fact that she was the one who made him react that way…

Well. She put her vibrator to use that night, that was all.

 

“You like him too much,” Clint pointed out the next day after Natasha had explained the situation to him. “Would you really let anyone else get away with that?”

Natasha thought back to the three other clients she had confronted about the same situation and made a face. “It’s not that simple,” she deflected as she took another sip of her drink. “He’s not like the other clients. He’s…”

_ Special. _

“He’s broken,” she finished. “The least I can do is let him get hard when the mood strikes.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You don’t owe him a happy ending.”

“And I haven’t given him one!”

“But you want to.”

Natasha pressed her lips together and stared over the table at Clint, who was staring right back. They both knew the truth, but she wasn’t going to come out and say that she might just be one hundred and ten percent  _ fine _ with Steve losing his control and ravaging her or something. Maybe it had just been too long for her. Or maybe Steve was just that irresistible? 

“You like him,” Clint said again. Natasha didn’t have it in her to deny it this time.

 

Thankfully, things were only a little awkward the next time Natasha showed up at his place. Steve was sweet as usual, escorting her into the kitchen for a cool drink and offering her a few of the cookies he ‘just happened’ to have sitting on the kitchen table. 

“My therapist suggested baking,” he explained as he fretted over refilling her glass like she might leave if it went dry for a moment. “I’m not much of a baker, but bread… I can do bread. And cookies, apparently.”

Natasha stopped with a cookie halfway to her lips. “You made these?”

Steve nodded proudly. 

“Well, then, let’s see.” She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before nodding along as she swallowed it down. “Delicious,” she announced, popping the rest in her mouth. “You’re a natural.”

And that was it. Right there. The look on Steve’s face could only be described as ‘elated’ and the whole image made her feel so guilty for what she now knew had to happen in order to keep both of them from getting hurt. What if she was responsible for some kind of breakdown? Obviously she knew that wasn’t a healthy attitude to have, but… this wasn’t a real relationship. This wasn’t the same thing as some abusive partner threatening to hurt themselves if she left. 

In fact, Steve would never say such a thing. She knew he wouldn’t, because he would much rather suffer in silence than actually voice his hurt and risk inconveniencing someone. 

It made their session much, much more difficult for her than usual. Natasha curled up to him knowing that it would be the last time they got together like this and she took the time to really appreciate the fact that he  _ always _ smelled freshly showered when they had their sessions, the fact that his chest was rock-fucking-hard under her hand, and the fact that his gentle breathing had lulled her to sleep on more than one occasion. She hadn’t even been able to really put it into words before now, but she  _ liked _ him. She really liked him. 

Fuck. She hated it when Clint was right.

With her cheek pillowed on his chest, Natasha closed her eyes and just let it happen. At last.

“My parents died when I was six,” she said quietly. “Back home, dying of mysterious circumstances is just part of life. No one ever paid for it, no one was ever found.” She took a shaky breath. “So I know what it’s like to lose someone. And I know what it’s like to feel like it’s a mistake that I’m still around and they’re not.” 

Steve’s hand on her back went from still to rubbing small circles in an effort to comfort her. She appreciated the gesture, but she appreciated his words even more.

“It’s not a mistake,” he said quietly, though there was a firmness to his voice she wasn’t entirely used to. Steve was getting more confident with every day that passed. “It’s not. I’m not really into fate and all that, but I can’t think of anything else other than that you were meant to be here… with me.” 

He cleared his throat and shifted just a little bit. “I mean, I don’t think I could have made all this progress without you,” he added. “I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to really thank you yet.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said quickly. 

“I don’t think you realize how alone I was before you.” 

Natasha pushed herself up again and looked down at him. Steve was a good person and he deserved better than the shit he was putting himself through, that was just a fact. The things he said sometimes might have come off as self-pitying or attention seeking from someone else, but from him they were just genuine. He was lonely and he knew it. And something told her that even with all the difficulty he’d had as a kid, he’d never been lonely like this before.  

“Well, you’re not alone anymore. Okay?” 

Steve met her gaze and smiled. “I know,” he said softly. “I’m not alone.”

 

When their session was over, Natasha tugged her boots on while Steve sat on the arm of his sofa and watched her. He was that kind of person; he observed when he didn’t know how to interact. She’d often wondered whether or not that might change in a romantic situation-- would he wrap his arms around her waist and distract her? Would he just watch? Would he make some kind of teasing comment? 

“Hey, Natasha?” 

She was just putting her coat on when he spoke up and got her attention. Lifting her head, she set about buttoning up even as she turned back towards him to hear what he had to say.

“Thank you.” 

Pause. “For what?”

Steve shrugged a little and shook his head. “This? Everything?” 

“You don’t have to--”

“I know, but I want to anyway. So thanks. I… When I woke up, I knew everything would be different, but I didn’t know how much it would affect me. I thought the doctors were all full of shit talking about.. PTSD and all this nonsense. But it’s profound, you know? It’s like you’re just living for the sake of living. You’re tired and when you’re not tired, you’re angry or scared or humiliated. Everything’s so intense and you’re not sure if you can actually make it through the next day because it’s all so overwhelming.”

He shrugged again, beefy arms crossed tight over his chest, like he wasn’t baring his soul to her. Natasha wanted to cry for him, because it felt like maybe he hadn’t let that happen just yet. 

“And fuck knows I’m not cured or anything,” he added quickly. “I’m still a fucking mess, I don’t even know how to describe it. But when you’re here? It’s like everything stops for a little while and I can pretend that maybe I’ll recognize the person I see when I look in the mirror.” 

 

_ Oh, Steve. _

 

Natasha didn’t know what to say. What could she possibly say that would make it better for him? What could she say that would even come close to being the ‘right’ thing? Sometimes there were no right words. Sometimes action was the only thing someone could really count on.

“I just… want you to know how much I appreciate you putting up with me and everything.” 

Natasha shook her head and marched forward to wrap him up in a tight hug, burying her nose in his neck like he’d done to her so many times before. Fuck everything, he needed this.  _ She _ needed this. And as Steve’s arms moved to wrap around her waist, she only held onto him a little tighter. 

When she pulled back, she had every intention of telling him that he wasn’t a burden, that she looked forward to his sessions more than anything else these days, that she didn’t even care about the money anymore because she really cared about him- but those words didn’t make it out either. In fact, she found herself standing between his knees with her gloved hand on his cheek for an uncomfortably long time and said not a word.

_ Fuck you, Clint, this is all your fault _ .

Steve’s lips were soft and dry and warm when she finally made contact with them. The kiss wasn’t even that long; he didn’t do much to respond to her, but he didn’t pull away either. When it ended, Natasha’s lips parted and she stayed right where she was for exactly four breaths. Honestly, she didn’t know whether she wanted him to scoop her up and throw her down on the couch or just pull her in for another kiss, or…

Turning her eyes up to meet his, she realized that he looked about as confused as she did. 

Natasha wound up doing the simplest thing she could think of at the moment: she kissed him again because it felt good. She didn’t think about the consequences or the implications or what might come from this; she just went with what felt right. At the moment, Steve’s plump lower lip slotted between hers and his thick, strong shoulders under her hands felt  _ right _ . But he was tentative at first, she could sense that. It felt like he might be questioning whether or not he was capable of doing what she was silently asking him to do.

Ironic, she thought, because the sweet kisses and the way he was so carefully holding her waist was doing unbelievable things to her self control. 

But it was when Steve whispered her name that Natasha’s decision was made. He sounded so wrecked already, like he never could have imagined it would feel this good to be in someone’s arms, to be so intimate with another person on a simple, conscious level. He sounded like he needed her more than anything in the whole world and damnit, Natasha was going to give in to that because it was more than enough to break down any lasting hints of doubt she might have had. She wanted him too. She’d wanted him for what felt like ages now. 

 

When Steve’s hands tightened on her hips and pulled her closer, she knew he was right there on the same page and possibly just as eager. She remembered what they’d talked about; he was probably a virgin and probably kind of terrified about all of this, but it sure didn’t show.

They broke apart for air and Natasha found herself panting lightly as their eyes met again. She wondered if this would be the end of it; she could see Steve apologizing or something and backing out before he got in too deep. That would be just like him, wouldn’t it? He’d probably want to apologize for offending her oh-so-delicate sensibilities and stepping over whatever imaginary line he’d drawn between them. Well, she had news for him. Her delicate sensibilities were not to be considered when she was two seconds away from tackling him onto the couch.

“St---eve?” 

Okay, so this wasn’t at all what she expected. One second, she was considering diving in for another kiss and the next, she was flat on her back with two hundred and something pounds of muscle bearing down on top of her. Oh, but she wasn’t complaining. Natasha’s hands immediately reached out to touch everything she could, from the defined curves of his biceps to his perky chest-- she smiled to herself as he huffed and hid his face in her neck --and back around his waist to squeeze his nice, firm behind.

He laughed. She made him laugh  _ in _ a social situation  _ with _ his body settled between her legs.

But this was still Steve she was dealing with, so when she brought her hands back up to his cheeks, he stopped her there with one big hand over hers and a look somewhere between guilt and hope. If he was going to stop this, he was going to stop it now. She could feel it.

 

“Are you sure about this?”

_ Oh, Steve. _

“Are  _ you _ ?” 

Steve blinked and gave her a sheepish look. “All I know is how you make me feel.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now take me to bed; this couch ain’t big enough for the two of us.”

He laughed again and it was like music to Natasha’s ears, but it wasn’t nearly as hot as the fact that he was ready and willing to scoop her into his arms and carry her bridal style into the other room. It was kind of a thrill to have a big, handsome prince take her away like that, stereotypical as that might be. Imagine the surfaces they could utilize! 

And even that was  _ nothing  _ in comparison to watching him peel his t-shirt off, stretching both arms over his head to remove it while his jeans slipped just low enough to really show off the hard lines leading into them. When he tossed his shirt aside, Steve stood there for a second looking like a Brooklyn-born demigod or some shit and raised his eyebrows at what must have been a really weird look on her face. 

“Just…” It wasn’t even fair. Natasha pushed herself up on her elbows and gestured to him with a wave of her hand. “Come here and kiss me again.”

Natasha didn’t have the words to describe how Steve looked while he was crawling over her and slotting their lips together all over again. Sure, she had to encourage him here and there, but her clothes were decorating Steve’s floor in no time at all and then he was  _ everywhere _ . There was something to be said for the careful way he touched her, the way his lips just fluttered over her skin as he explored and patiently figured out what she liked best. Steve was the kind of generous lover that people  _ dreamt _ of-- and he was just starting. 

By the time he crawled up beside her with wet lips and half lidded eyes, Natasha was more than eager to guide his hand between her legs and groan as his fingers slipped into her at last. She wasn’t shy about showing him what to do and how to press his fingers down; he was a fast learner, but it wasn’t just that. He was also  _ eager to please _ \-- and it showed in the way he carefully crooked his fingers up, prodding and rubbing just so as Natasha’s lips parted in a breathy moan and she craned her neck back. 

“You’re beautiful.”

The compliment was so sudden and so softly spoken that Natasha was actually derailed from rolling her hips against his fingers for more friction. She settled down and turned to look at him,  _ really _ look at him, for just a moment or two. He ought to know that he was beautiful too, but the words never quite made it to her lips. They’d sound weird coming out of her mouth anyway.

“Come here, Steve.”

Switching their positions was easy after that; Steve didn’t argue when she pushed him back and straddled his waist. In fact, the color on his cheeks only became more pronounced as she slid her hands over his chest and down to the neat lines of his stomach, then further on… 

The choked noise he let out when she first touched his cock was even better than she might have imagined. It was something between a gasp and a sob, something that told her all she needed to know about Steve right now: he wanted to be touched. Even after all their cuddling, he was just aching to be touched as much as humanly possible. And the fact that he’d been living without it had taken a toll that she wasn’t always so keenly aware of. With that in mind, Natasha touched him: she touched him  _ everywhere.  _

Stroking him was one thing, but she also slid her hands over his hips and traced the lines of muscle leading down to his groin. She touched the smooth skin under his belly button and gripped both his thighs as she wriggled down to kneel between his legs. When she was sure he was alright with it, she slid her hands right back up along his inner thighs and lightly touched his balls as well. It was… It actually made her smile, just because he let out this soft whine and turned his head like he was embarrassed that it felt good. 

Wrapping her hand around his cock again, Natasha began a series of long, slow strokes and leaned down to pepper soft kisses over his heated skin. He was trying not to move; she could see that in the tense lines of his arms and the way his hips would just barely twitch up sometimes. 

“You can let go, you know,” she murmured as she kissed his stomach. “Show me what you’re made of, Rogers.” 

 

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Steve was dizzy.

There was no other way to put it. It felt like all the blood in his brain had gone south and he could hardly think, let alone communicate properly. Natasha was like a force to be reckoned with and he loved it; God, he  _ loved _ it. Fuck, he was up shit’s creek without a paddle.

The noise he let out when she first touched him only served to make his cheeks that much hotter, but Natasha didn’t seem to mind all that much. At the same time, Steve felt kind of guilty just laying there and letting her do all the work-- shouldn’t he have his hands on her or something? He wanted to make sure she was getting something out of this too and watching him writhe couldn’t be that exciting.

“Steve.”

He hadn’t even realized that she’d spoken. He was thinking too much and not paying nearly enough attention to what was actually happening.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re thinking too much.”

“Y-yeah,” he admitted. “I am.” 

Natasha tipped her head to the side. “What are you thinking about?”

She was still lazily stroking him; Natasha had to know what that was doing to his resolve. 

“I feel like I should be doing more,” he said slowly. “You’re doing all the work.”

There was something soft in Natasha’s eyes that he couldn’t name. Maybe she felt bad for him, or maybe she was just amused by how uncertain he was about all of this. Before he could ask what she was thinking, she slid off him and laid down on her side instead.

When he turned his head to the side, she was smiling at him and reaching out to let her hand wander down the length of his torso again. They were only inches apart at that point-- he could see how dilated her pupils were and smell the faint scent of the perfume he’d come to know and love. Much to his embarrassment, he groaned as soon as her hand wrapped around him again and blushed hotly when she laughed softly into his shoulder. 

As she stroked him, he started to try and lose himself in the slow drag of her palm against him. It was exquisite, really. If this was what he’d been missing then he understood why everyone was so excited about it, although he didn’t think he’d be some kind of sex maniac now that he’d done a little something. This was a special occasion and a special set of circumstances.

Each second that ticked by was better than the last; it wasn’t as if Steve had never jerked off before, but this was so much more intense. He let out little puffs of air and fought to keep his eyes on her. It wasn’t too hard, especially since she kept favoring him with little kisses every now and then, and murmured soft encouragement as he started unconsciously rocking his hips to get more. 

“That’s it,” she told him. “Look at me.”

He did as she asked and kept his eyes up. There was something very intimate about this, about the fact that she was just watching him as he came apart beside her. It was something no one else had ever seen before and she was taking in every single second of it. When he couldn’t hold back anymore, he shuddered hard and reached out to her, idly cupping her cheek as he finally let go and came. 

Steve just barely registered Natasha’s smile as his head dropped down to her shoulder and he accepted her other hand in his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp just the way he liked it. 

When he was able to lift his head back up, kissing her again felt like the only right thing to do. And Steve wasn’t in a rush about it; he took his time easing into it, coaxing her lips apart, and losing himself in the sweet way she responded to him. It felt good, and not just because of the physical aspect. It felt good to open up to someone this way. 

\--But that didn’t take away from the fact that Steve was Steve, and Steve wasn’t about to let this be a one-sided experience. Since all he knew so far was what to do with his hand, he found his way back between her legs while they kissed and carefully took up the same position he had before. When Natasha’s lips parted to moan, he swallowed it down and kissed her again. 

 

Soon enough, Natasha was rolling her hips down against his hand and Steve pulled away so he could watch her-- eyes closed, bottom lip between her teeth, one hand snaking into his hair again for something to hold onto. He thought for a moment that he could live the rest of his life getting little glimpses of what she looked like right now. She looked exquisite in a way he couldn’t describe, maybe because he hadn’t been given enough time or maybe because that was what it felt like to make love to someone. Whatever the case might be, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

She gasped out his name a few more times before she actually came, her thighs tensing hard around his hand as she threw her head back and writhed in a way he probably couldn’t have imagined if he’d tried. By the time she pushed his hand away, Steve was smiling like he’d just won the lottery or something. 

“You--” She was out of breath and huffed in frustration as she pushed herself up a little. “You bastard, why are you smiling like that?”

Steve only smiled a little wider. “I… guess I’m just happy.”

 

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Happy. Huh. 

"It’s a good look for you,” she answered as she really took in his smile. God, he was beautiful. Natasha was immediately struck by the thought that he ought to smile more often; he was sweet enough that he deserved to be happy and smiling and glowing whenever possible. “A  _ very _ good look.” 

Still basking in the afterglow, she was caught very much off guard when Steve asked her if she was going to stay. She hadn’t thought about it. It was already pretty late thanks to his decision to push their meeting back a couple of hours and his bed was  _ so _ comfortable. The idea that she could spend the night in his arms wasn’t entirely unpleasant, although it was definitely not a good idea from a professional perspective. 

...Fucking her clients was also not a good idea from a professional perspective, but whatever.

“I’d like to.”

Steve’s eyes practically sparkled and Natasha just shook her head at him as she smiled back. Why did he make her feel that way, huh? What was it about him that had her stomach all in knots? From the nest of blankets on his bed, Natasha watched as Steve got up, pulled on his boxers, and wandered into the kitchen for two glasses of milk and a half-finished package of Oreos. 

“What a prince,” she sighed as she plucked a cookie from the package. 

When the cookies were gone and the glasses were empty, Steve curled up on one side of the bed and Natasha took her position with her back to his chest and his heavy arm draped over her waist. It felt good to be laying beside Steve like that. She wasn’t being paid; she just wanted to be there. 

 

But the implications of what she’d done were too complex to deal with at six o’clock in the morning without coffee, so Natasha did what she always did: she left. It was like she was in a daze all the way back home, where she walked past Clint and Laura having an early breakfast and planted herself on the cozy back porch to think. The next time she consciously blinked and looked around, there was a cooling mug of coffee and a plate with a couple of pieces of toast and two strips of bacon- Laura, no doubt about it. 

 

“Okay, so I did exactly what you probably thought I would do.”

Natasha made the announcement as she was admitted to Clint and Laura’s bedroom that night and plopped down near the foot of the bed to talk to them. It wasn’t easy for her to ask for help, but she wasn’t  _ really _ asking for anything- she was just talking. Laura knew how she worked; Clint was just along for the ride unless she needed a little tough love, which she did more often than not. Natasha was nearly as stubborn as Clint himself. 

“I don’t know what it is; it’s like he’s this  _ magnet _ and I couldn’t resist getting closer or something. I don’t know how he doesn’t have a girlfriend from the sheer volume of people who must be throwing themselves at the guy with a face like that and a body like that, and he’s so sweet he’s gonna cause cavities, it’s  _ ridiculous _ .”

Laura opened her mouth, but shut it again when Natasha continued.

“And he’s such a good kisser,” she groaned, covering her face with both hands. “Because of course, right? If he was a bad kisser then maybe I could write it off as wanting to just make him feel better, but nope. Nope, one little kiss and I’m naked.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Clint mumbled from his side of the bed. 

Laura nudged his arm. “Well, I do, so shush.”

“He’s so…” Words failing her, Natasha made a frustrated sound and Laura smiled knowingly.

“Sounds to me like you’re in l--”

“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

“Too late.”

Natasha sighed. “I can’t be in-- I can’t be. No way. Not happening.”

 

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“Hey, uh… I don’t know if you remember me. My name’s Steve Rogers. We--”

“‘Course I remember you, Steve. How the hell are you?”

Steve blinked and wondered if Sam remembered everyone who showed up at one of his meetings or if Steve was some kind of special case. 

“I’m alright,” he answered slowly. “Yeah, I think-- ‘alright’ just about covers it.”

Sam laughed softly. “Sounds like you’ve got something on your mind. You wanna meet up for coffee somewhere?”

 

They decided to meet about halfway between their apartments at a little diner known for homemade pies and free refills on coffee. Steve felt like he was meeting an old friend or something with the way Sam greeted him. He got a big hug and a slap on the back before they sat down, which was just indicative of Sam’s warm nature and definitely not a terrible reminder of the lack of companionship in Steve’s life. Whatever.

“So,” Sam began. “What’s on your mind, Cap?”

Steve’s head snapped up. 

“Oh, you think I didn’t recognize you? I know who you are, man. Now spill. I’m all kinds of ready to listen.”

Over apple pie and lots of coffee, Steve told Sam the whole sordid story. He talked about how he’d missed physical contact in a way he couldn’t describe and the advice he’d gotten from his shrink. He talked about how he’d considered hiring an escort (something he admitted to with his eyes firmly on his fork and definitely not meeting Sam’s) and all about how he was glad to find a service that didn’t involve sex. He even talked about how stupid he felt for having to resort to paying someone to spend time with him.

And then the real problem came out.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he mumbled. “And I know how crazy that sounds, I mean, I barely know her and I’ve been paying her to come over, but…”

“Hey, I’ve heard crazier things,” Sam interjected. “Much crazier. And she kissed you first, right? That’s gotta mean something. Natasha doesn’t sound like the frivolous type.”

Steve stabbed miserably at the pie on his plate and thought back to that one kiss. It had been a whole week by then-- he had almost constantly berated himself for being such a coward and not arranging another session or just texting her to talk about what had happened. But the fact remained that Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be in a relationship, whatever that relationship involved. 

“What kind of person would I be if I brought her into my life the way I am?” 

Sam shook his head. “That’s not your choice to make.” 

 

“Are you sure about that?”

Steve tapped his fingers against the arm of the leather chair he’d chosen for their session today and distinctly avoided Dr. Fury’s eyes. 

“I’ve only known her a few weeks,” he reasoned, basically answering the question without really answering the question. “You can’t just fall in love in a couple of weeks.”

Fury raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“You’ve gotta really know somebody. Love at first sight isn’t a real thing- that’s just lust!”

“Is that what you felt when you saw Peggy for the first time?”

Steve frowned and chewed on his lower lip. “That’s different.”

“In what way?”

“Peggy was-- she was-- We were working together right away and it wasn’t-- like this--”

“Meaning that she wasn’t someone you were paying to be there?”

“Well, yeah,” he said exasperatedly. “You can’t tell me it’s a weird fucking situation.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But the situation doesn’t take away from what she means to you.”

 

To be honest, Steve didn’t know why he was seeking out so many opinions about what he should do or whether or not he should take that night seriously. It wasn’t like Natasha had reached out to him either in the past week- but then again she probably thought he needed time, or that he’d decided to stop their sessions. Fuck, he was such an asshole.

And now if he did contact her, he’d have to be ready with some speech or some big gesture to show her that he cared about her, but he wasn’t even sure he could offer her a whole relationship and if he couldn’t, then why even bother, right? She deserved the whole enchilada, not something she had to settle for! 

For the next three days, Steve contemplated his options. He only had so many, and she would only wait so long-- if she was waiting at all! For all he knew, what happened between them could have been out of pity.

Except he knew Natasha. And she wouldn’t have done that unless she wanted to.

But that didn’t guarantee that she wanted him in a romantic way, alright? It didn’t mean anything.


	5. Chapter 5

_ Rule #5: Don’t be afraid to voice your needs. It’s different for everyone.  _

 

“Hey, kid.”

_ Kid? I haven’t been called ‘kid’ since I was five foot nothing. _

Steve turned towards the person addressing him and slowly lowered the book he’d been looking at. He found a shorter, older man staring up at him with a no-nonsense look Steve was just dying to challenge. 

“You’re Steve Rogers, right? Captain America?”

Shit. “I don’t know what you mean, man.”

“Cut the bullshit,  _ man _ ,” he countered. “I’ve been watching you for twenty minutes now and you’re definitely Captain America, so don’t even bother.”

Steve blinked and turned to face the man completely. “Do I know you? No, wait. Do I want to know why you’ve been watching me for twenty minutes?”

“No, you don’t know me. But you’re a friend of a good friend of mine and you’re kind of taking a really long time to prove me right, so… I figured I’d handle it my own way. If you want something done right, you’ve gotta do it yourself, you know?” 

“I’m confused,” he said slowly. “I don’t really have any friends.”

“Aw, man, that’s just sad. And kind of insulting. I don’t think Tasha would want to hear that.”

Steve perked right up, then nearly burrowed into the ground when the dread hit him. “You-- know Natasha?”

“Know her? She’s my best friend and sort of my tenant and godmother to my babies, now you wanna tell me why you haven’t texted her yet? It’s been over a week.”

“Was I supposed to text her?”

_ How much does he know? How much does he know? How much does he-- _

“Gee, I don’t know. You wanna be an asshole or a good guy? Because you  _ look _ like a good guy, but fuck if I know.” 

_ Shit, he knows _ .

“Is she mad?”

“Nat doesn’t  _ get _ mad about stuff like this. She just ignores it completely.”

“That’s probably worse than getting mad.”

“Yep. So I figured I’d see how this went--” He gestured between them. “And offer you an olive branch.” 

 

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Natasha wondered whether or not homicide would be considered justifiable if the perpetrator was under severe emotional stress and dealing with a traitorous idiot. Surely the court system would understand her decision to hack her best friend to pieces over a lovely dinner of roast chicken and potatoes if they knew the full story and all the circumstances surrounding it.

Because Natasha liked being prepared. She didn’t like surprises and she didn’t like feeling like she wasn’t in control, so the fact that she walked out of her room in leggings and a baggy tshirt to find Steve (dressed up all nice and looking equal parts happy to see her and abjectly terrified of what she might say) standing in Clint’s living room was something of a nasty shock.

To her credit, she recovered pretty quickly. 

“Nat, you know Steve.”

_ You’re dead to me. _

Clint was so cavalier about the whole thing, just gesturing to Steve for a moment before wandering into the kitchen to  hide help Laura with dinner, leaving them alone for the moment. 

“Hey, look, this is probably a big shock to you, but--”

Natasha held up a hand to silence him and took a deep breath. “I’m going to go back upstairs,” she said. “And I’m going to come back down again, and  _ then _ we can have this conversation.”

Steve blinked in surprise. “Okay…”

 

Fifteen minutes later, Natasha came back downstairs in a slightly more suitable outfit. She wasn’t one to stand on ceremony and she definitely didn’t care that Steve had seen her without makeup, but they weren't even dating! She wasn’t going to have dinner with him in her pajamas.

“Okay, I’m definitely a little more-- ready--”

She stopped there because Steve was sitting on the floor with a plastic crown on his head and a tiny plastic cup in his hand with Lila pouring pretend tea into it. There were stuffed animals all around him and Cooper, though he usually eschewed tea parties with his baby sister, was perched beside him with a look of awe on his face. Natasha pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud, especially as Steve politely thanked Lila for the tea (air) and cookies (plastic) and sipped his drink. 

“Come on, come on,” Laura announced as she came into the room. “It’s dinnertime. Put all this away and--” She looked at Steve with a sympathetic expression. “Maybe let Steve take the crown off at the dinner table.”

Steve huffed out an awkward laugh as he stood and helped Lila clean up, but he immediately turned towards Natasha when that was all done- and his plot to speak to her was foiled by a little hand grabbing his to pull him into the dining room to eat. 

“You have to sit with me,” Lila announced as she pulled him towards the table.

Obviously Steve obliged with no protest whatsoever, seating himself beside Lila on one side of the table while Natasha and Cooper took their seats on the other side, and Clint and Laura sat at opposite heads. Suddenly, they weren’t having a tea party anymore and Steve looked like he was ready to run.

 

“So,” Natasha said to break the silence as they passed around plates of food to serve themselves. “What happy coincidence brought you two together?”

Steve coughed violently and Clint reached over to slap him on the back. 

“Just so happened that we bumped into each other on the street. I recognized him and I just  _ had _ to say hello. Isn’t that right, Steve?”

“Uh, yeah.” He glanced at Clint first, then turned his attention to Natasha. “Yeah, we just-- Um, like he said-- bumped into each other. Crazy coincidence.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“Anyway-- Steve, I think you’d love the story of how Natasha and I met.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, hush, it was a million years ago.”

“It wasn’t  _ that _ long ago.”

“Uh huh. So little miss over here tried to steal my wallet.”

Natasha huffed. “Excuse you, I  _ did _ steal your wallet.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised as he looked between them and continued chewing the food in his mouth. 

“Yeah, but I caught you, so…”

“You only caught me because of your dog.”

“Lucky.” Clint sighed. “Best dog ever.”

“Yeah, well. He was and everything, but he was the one who caught me, not you.”

Steve cleared his throat once he’d swallowed. “So, was there a particular reason why…?”

“That’s a long story,” Natasha said quickly. “A very long story.” 

“I’ve got all the time in the world when you want to tell me.”

The kids, Laura, and Clint, all turned to look at Steve. Natasha kept her eyes down, but she was smiling all the same and everyone knew it. 

 

When dinner was over, Laura corralled the kids upstairs so the grownups could have some privacy. Clint hustled Steve into the living room, where he began to regale him with a long story about his circus days, and Natasha stayed in the kitchen to help clear the table.

“He seems nice,” Laura mused as she rinsed. “Very handsome.”

Natasha pressed her lips together. “I can’t believe Clint brought him here.”

“You know Clint. He can’t take you moping around for longer than a day or two.” 

“I wasn’t  _ moping _ .”

“You were definitely doing your version of moping.”

Natasha huffed a little bit as she stacked the dinner plates on the counter so she could put them all away at once. It was easy for Laura to call her out on something like that; they’d known each other forever, after all. And there was really no point in denying it further because Natasha knew that working out extra hard and the fact that she’d been up before the sun for a few days now spoke for itself.

“Go and talk to him,” Laura urged. “Go on. Send Clint in here to help with the dishes.”

 

Even though Natasha was sort of dreading the uncertainty of it all, she wandered out of the kitchen and stood in the doorway of the living room where Clint was standing up and waving his arms to demonstrate something or other. Poor Steve looked like he was trapped.

“You know you’re becoming an old man when you’re telling stories about the good old days after dinner,” she interrupted eventually. Clint made a face at her and Natasha smiled. “Can I borrow Steve for a bit?”

“Ooh, what for?” 

She elbowed him on her way past and gestured for Steve to get up and follow her outside to the porch. Safely separated from Clint’s prying eyes, Natasha hopped up to take a seat on the thick wood railing and Steve kind of awkwardly considered his options before leaning against the same railing in an effort to look relaxed. It didn’t really work.

 

“So, he’s an interesting character,” he commented. “I’ve never had a stalker before.”

“He’s harmless.” 

_ And insane, and I’m going to kill him, but… _

“What are you doing here, Steve?”

“Can’t a guy have dinner with complete strangers and the girl he’s been paying to cuddle with him?” He asked wryly. “Doesn’t sound anything but normal to me.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows at him.

Steve lost the stare off without Natasha even trying that hard. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he breathed as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You didn’t have to say yes, you know,” she offered. “Clint’s just trying to make trouble.”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to see you again.”

Steve’s confession hung in the air between them for an uncomfortably long time. He wanted to see her again, huh? Why hadn’t he just texted her? What they’d done wasn’t the end of the world-- It wasn’t filthy or dirty or wrong… Unless of course he didn’t see her that way and didn’t know how to tell her that he just wanted to be friends; that sounded like it was too awkward for him to handle. Besides, she had thought the feeling just  _ might _ be mutual.

In the end, Natasha extended her bare foot and lightly poked his (rock hard, how was he even that fit) side. “You could have just texted me.”

“I figured-- you might not say yes this time,” he admitted lightly. “I was working up to it, I swear.”

“Steve, look, if it was weird for you…”

“No, listen,” he interrupted. “Please. It wasn’t  _ weird _ . In fact, it wasn’t weird at all. It felt… like I’d been waiting for you to kiss me since I met you, or something.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself. “Smooth.”

“Yep. Like sandpaper,” he quipped. “Point is, I want you in my life. You’re a good thing, y’know? When you’re around, the time doesn’t move so slowly. And if we could kind of move past the whole client-and-cuddler thing, that’d be sort of great.”

“Wow, now that’s a romantic speech if I’ve ever heard one,” she said dryly. “Sort of great?”

“I mean…” Steve rubbed so anxiously at the back of his neck that his skin immediately started to flush a deep red color. “It’d be amazing. I just don’t want to lead you on or anything, you know? I don’t think I can just flip a switch and be normal.”

Natasha shook her head and hopped down so she could stand in front of Steve and lean right into him, pressing the whole front of her body against his. “I’m not asking you to be ‘normal’, whatever that means,” she said defiantly. “This is good, what we’ve got.” 

Steve’s shoulders sagged like a huge, heavy weight had just been lifted and Natasha slid her arms around his waist for a hug. He was silent for a few moments with his arms around her and then--

 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

 

Natasha tipped her head back and rested her chin between his beautiful pecs. “Well, it would be stupid of me to do anything to discourage something like that,” she reasoned. “Because according to my less emotionally-stunted friends, I’m falling in love with you too.”

 

.

..

...

 

“Please don’t tell me you think you’re going to wear  _ plaid _ tonight,” Natasha said from where she was securing an earring via the mirror. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Steve was already backing up and silently putting whatever plaid shirt he’d picked out back into the closet as he grumbled about the fact that there was nothing wrong with plaid in general. Natasha just smiled to herself and smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress while she waited for him to pick something else.

“Does it  _ really _ matter what I’m wearing? It’s gonna wind up on the floor later anyway.” Steve came back out of the closet with a solid blue button down in one hand and khakis in the other. “Is this okay?”

He’d gotten so bold over the last few months; Natasha actually loved when he got handsy or made jokes like that one and he knew it. And on top of that, she loved that he knew it. She loved that he knew  _ exactly _ what she liked and loved even more that he didn’t have to try to give it to her. It was like she was watching this brand new person develop day by day. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t have nightmares every now and then, of course. He still saw Dr. Fury and more often than not it was hard to get him out of the house to do anything but run in the park, but he was making progress. 

The biggest moment for her had been when Steve took it upon himself to secure a ticket to her next recital and met her with roses afterwards. He’d looked so proud.

That same week, she surprised him by  breaking into sneaking into his apartment while he was out and setting up the whole place like a romance novel. She threw herself into it and did  _ everything _ she could think of; candles, rose petals, silky lingerie, soft music…

Steve had burst into laughter at the sight of it all and Natasha could not have been more proud of herself. Taking his virginity amidst cheesy romantic lines while rolling around on top of rose petals scattered on his bed was quite possibly the best decision she’d ever made. They laughed so much during the actual act that they had to take breaks just to catch their breath and maybe it was just her inner hopeless romantic rearing her ugly head, but Natasha loved every minute of it. The whole thing made her feel light and happy and impossibly content with her life.

“Ditch the khakis and wear those pants that make your ass look extra special.”

Steve shook his head fondly and grabbed a different pair of pants so he could get dressed. When he came back out, she whistled and winked at him, which got his cheeks to heat up even though he was behind her and kissing her neck two seconds later. 

“We’ll be late,” she mumbled in protest. “And everyone will know why.”

Over the course of their relationship, Steve and Natasha had become known as ‘that couple who was always late because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other’ and it was a reputation that was constantly emboldened with each and every fashionably late appearance they made. 

“So what?” His arms circled her waist and pulled her against his chest. Natasha wondered if there would come a day that she’d have the willpower to actually say no and mean it. 

“Oh, you don’t care if they know?” 

“Nope.” He kissed her neck again and nuzzled into the warm skin there. 

Natasha pressed her lips together and turned in his arms to give him a stern look. “If you mess up this dress and make me change, I’ll never forgive you.”

Steve grinned broadly and stepped back only so he could turn her around and bend her over. Natasha spread her legs and managed to be on her toes even with the heels she had on, but Steve could cope. He knelt down to peel her panties off and had his mouth on her in no time at all-- it remained his very favorite thing to do in bed and she couldn’t be happier for it. With her cheek against the smooth wood of the dresser, Natasha could do little more than let him have at it, her knuckles turning white as she held on for dear life and her thighs trembling from the sheer burden of keeping her upright. 

Seconds before she was ready to come, Steve pulled away and Natasha let out something between a sob and a string of swears that would make anyone blush-- if they spoke Russian. She knew he wasn’t done, though; a moment later, he had her turned around again and lifted her up onto the dresser behind her. He wasn’t incredibly careful about making sure the skirt of her dress was out of the way, but he had managed to get her panties off without tearing them. He had a terrible habit of giving her clothes a run for their money out of sheer enthusiasm and the panties she’d chosen were little more than a bit of lace sewn together, so he got a few points for that plus the way he shoved his pants down like if he didn’t get inside her right this minute he’d die right there on the spot. What a loser.

All the same, Natasha gasped as he pressed into her at last and shamelessly tried to angle herself in the most advantageous way. She hated that he still had a shirt on, but she was able to scratch hard at his biceps without leaving noticeable marks and dig her heels into his ass to spur him on a little more. She wasn’t going to complain about the opportunity to do any of that, nor the opportunity to give the neighbors something to think about in the form of the dresser banging the wall every time he filled her. 

They kissed sloppily as Steve continued to rock his hips and thanks to how wound up she was already, Natasha came from that alone. She grabbed onto his shoulders as she tried to come down from it all, but he never paused, never even faltered a little bit and managed to follow on her heels with no problem. After another kiss or two, Natasha hopped down with his help and wobbled slightly as she reached for her now discarded panties.

“You know,” he said. “If you don’t wear them, we can always… take a break during the party.”

Natasha stood up and placed her hand over her heart in mild shock. “Steve Rogers!” She exclaimed. “ _ Surely _ you aren’t insinuating that we could sneak away in the middle of the party to have  _ sex _ .” 

Steve smiled almost bashfully as he buckled his belt again. “Me? I would never.”

 

But they did. 

Twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
